


The Seventh Wave

by Destina



Series: The Seventh Wave [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harem, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Drama, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 79,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU set in the Phantom Menace timeline, but in a galaxy where the Jedi have already been destroyed, and the Sith rule. An ancient prohibition against creating more than two Sith Lords has been completely disregarded. On the drowned world of Taganor, formerly known as Tatooine, the Regent Kenobi rules with a ruthless hand...until one day, a rebel Jedi Knight is taken prisoner and brought before him, and the tides of power begin to shift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Empire of the Senses

**Author's Note:**

> Seventh Wave began as a WIP AU novel in 1999, and I posted new chapters of it all the way up until 2004, when I realized that posting this as a WIP had been a huge mistake. In hindsight, I realized I had reached a natural stopping point for the story three chapters before I stopped posting and six chapters before I stopped writing. It was a huge learning experience for me; this was the only WIP I ever posted. Therefore this version of Seventh Wave, which is unedited and unchanged from the original version posted to my website, ends with chapter 14. The other three posted chapters will be posted to AO3 as additional bits in the universe, but outside of the completed story - they will be posted as additional stories in the Seventh Wave series. 
> 
> The original Seventh Wave FAQ which used to live on my website will be posted as an extra in the series.
> 
> Many thanks to the alpha/beta readers who gave this novel the benefit of their experience, sharp eyes and insight as this thing was being posted: blapin, Lilith Sedai, Pumpkin, Rina, Alyosha, Beth, Kimdy, Catnip, Gwendolen, Amber, Robin, kimberlite, and Vermilion Flame. Thanks also to those folks who provided inspiration and encouragement when it was most needed: Kimdy, Keely, BlackRose, Wolfe, LaConstance, Emu, Pumpkin, Master Elayna, 'lion, Robin, Fi, Sharon, Catnip, kimberlite, cerasi and Namiko. And thank you to everyone who read it over the years, and who never gave up on it.

It seemed the world was made of rain. Droplets of water pelted the high windows of the fortress, shuddering as they collided, joining violently and sliding down the transparisteel. The rainy season had begun early, without warning, and Taganor had become a planet of mud and damp. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, counterpoint to the crisp electric flashes above the solid mass of dark clouds. 

The skin of the Regent's arms prickled as the static charge of lightning electrified the air. He stood motionless near the window, eyes fixed on a point very far away, reaching out with his senses, traveling the valleys and towns below on the wings of perception, tasting the very air, searching for some trace of his prey. 

In his mind's eye, he still saw the dunes and harsh planes of the world of his birth, now overlaid by the damp greenery produced by agricultural engineering. If he touched his teeth with his tongue, he still felt the grit and scratch of sand in his mouth. It would never fade, that feeling of thirst and heat and desolation. His world was called Taganor now, but by any other name, it was still the place he was born, the place he was sworn to protect -- the place he would die. 

Emotionless hazel eyes reflected back at him in the mirror made by the darkened window. He focused on his own image for a moment, looking at the grim set of his jaw, the tense muscles of his shoulders, the scars on his biceps disappearing underneath the tight, short sleeves of his black tunic. He crossed his arms over the flat, lean stomach, and dropped his gaze for a moment, waiting for the entry chimes of his chamber door. 

He spoke as the soft chimes sounded. "Enter," he called, hand dropping to the blaster sheathed at his side. 

"My lord." The Senior Chancellor entered the room, always dignified, always serious, and bowed gracefully as the door slid closed behind him. "You sent for me?" 

"I've heard a rumor, Valorum. Perhaps you can confirm it for me." The Regent picked up half-finished glass of wine, studied it, set it down again. "A Jedi has come to this world and is hiding in the wilds near Espa. He may intend this to be his refuge." 

"Your sympathy for the Jedi was well known among certain factions, my lord. Now there are so few left..." Valorum hesitated. "The Imperial edict is clear. We must, according to law, hunt this man down and end his life." 

"Perhaps not." The young Regent looked up at his most trusted advisor. "I have other plans for this Jedi." 

"To do other than the law demands would be to risk everything you protect here." 

"I have held this world by will alone, my friend. They will not take it now." The Regent looked up, a determined expression on his face. "You know what's at stake." 

"I do, indeed." Valorum moved past the Regent, looking out at the gray weather, at the startled atmosphere churning beyond the windows. "What is your command?" 

"Send your most reliable people to find this man. If he is here, I want him alive. It's imperative that I speak with him. Something tells me this is the answer to our problems with the Sith." The advisor bowed and turned to leave, but was stopped by the Regent's voice. "Alive, Valorum. Is that clear?" 

"Yes, Excellency." Another deep bow, and Valorum was gone to do his duty. 

The Regent sighed, feeling weary and alone, and reached for his comlink, keying a particular, well-worn button. 

"Yes, my lord?" came the response, instantaneous and filled with sultry humor. 

"Come to me in my chambers," the Regent commanded, already smiling at the knowing tone of his favorite's voice. 

"Immediately, my lord," the man on the other end responded. 

As he turned from the comlink, the Regent surveyed the piles of datapads and hand-written messages littering the tables and couches. Managing the affairs of the heir had become an enormous task over the previous few years, and took all the cunning and skill he possessed. The Sith were formidable; their armies seemed vast. The Regent shivered, and his blood ran cold as he recalled his reaction to the first contingent of black-clad Sith warriors making their way down the ramp of an Imperial ship. 

There was an ancient saying, one the Sith had chosen to disregard in their quest for dominance of the surrounding star systems. *Always two there are, a master, and an apprentice. No more, no less.* The balance of power dictated the need for a teacher and a pupil - but no others. It was written that great destruction would come if the balance of power was shifted so grievously to the Dark Side...but the prophecies were ignored, shoved aside like useless folk tales. The Regent remembered enough of the teachings of his youth to feel judicious fear of the power wielded by the Sith. 

He reached to unfasten his form-fitting tunic, releasing the clasps across his chest. As the clasps were freed, the fabric gaped open, exposing an expanse of muscular, pale flesh. 

"Let me help you with that, my lord." The Regent smiled as the deep tones echoed across the room, and turned to see a dark-haired man striding toward him, a smile lighting his blue eyes. 

"You took longer than I expected," the Regent accused, an answering smile playing about his lips. 

"I ran," the dark-haired man said, and his hands closed around the Regent's waist as their mouths met, touched, devoured one another. Those talented hands ran beneath the Regent's tunic, finding and brushing over tightened nipples, pushing open the tunic and forcing it back over dropped shoulders. Lips followed hands down the torso, and back up, biting at the shoulder, teeth sinking into the taut skin. 

The Regent exhaled a hissing breath and pressed a hand to the back of his lover's neck, locking him in place as he allowed the pain to consume him for a moment. His other hand touched the side of the face buried against his neck, raising it to his caress, tongue forcing its way past the willing lips as they parted to admit him. He tasted his own blood, the salty sustenance of his life, and it aroused him. 

Two not-so-gentle shoves, and the Regent tumbled backwards onto his bed, sprawled beneath the dark head which roamed his body. Deft fingers released his belt, then brushed across the hard length of his cock as they unfastened his trousers, freeing his erection. 

A warm nose nuzzled the organ. "Beautiful," came the soft words, spoken against his skin, and the Regent growled softly. Liquid blue eyes raised to his as a pink tongue ran the tip of his cock, licking softly. "How will you take me, my Master?" 

"Your mouth," the Regent gasped out, just as that mouth descended slowly on him, tongue twisting sinuously in slow, lapping circles, providing sweet suction, exquisite tightness. The Regent watched, spellbound by the slowly bobbing head, the wicked glance across his belly, the brush of silky black hair against his skin with every downward motion. 

Hands arrested his movement, stilling his hips, and he obeyed their implied command because he chose to do so. His pleasure intensified, coiling against his mind, senses opening and catching fire as the scrape of teeth down his cock sent shivers of pain and delight through his body. He ran his fingers lightly down his own torso, nerves singing with the pure music of passion, and caught the fingers at his hip, twining his own with them, pushing them away. 

His lover's hands wrapped around his buttocks and pulled him deeper, even as his hands rested on the soft black hair, setting the rhythm. He thrust more quickly, encouraged by the soft suckling noises, poised on the edge of a tempting precipice. Slowly, one inch at a time, he moved closer, allowing himself to near oblivion, and one look at the determined, sensual gaze which flickered up to his own sent him howling over the brink -- enclosed, devoured, owned. 

The Regent fell back, limp, and his body was warmly covered by the other man, his lips touched and possessed with an intensity which left him breathless. "All for you, my lord," his lover whispered, as they shared the taste of a reckless orgasm. 

"Come here," the Regent ordered roughly, drawing the other man nearer, enclosing him in an embrace, twining the two of them together. 

"Is your mind free of worry now, my Master?" 

"You please me like no other," the Regent replied, tracing his fingers across the swollen lips, the dark eyelashes, the small scar on the cheek. Absently, he traced the pattern, a broken circle, raised and angry against the smooth perfection of his favorite's skin. "When will you tell me how this scar was formed, Xanatos?" he asked, troubled by the injury. 

"It's of no consequence, Master. Please...don't trouble yourself." The blue of Xanatos' eyes darkened, and he pressed gentle kisses to the Regent's face. 

"I've told you many times, you may use my given name when we are alone," his master reminded him with a tinge of reprimand. 

"I'm not your equal, Mas...Obi-Wan," Xanatos answered, hesitant. "I should not be allowed that liberty." 

"You're allowed what I say you are to be allowed," Obi-Wan answered, swallowing the other man's protests with a kiss, delighting in the exchange of tongues and tastes for a moment, before pulling away. He took the time to delight in the sight of his pleasure slave, cheeks flushed, lounging across his bed. Xanatos was the picture of decadence, from his lush lips to the sparkling eyes, to the hand that idly stroked across his bared chest, feathering across his own nipples, darting inside his waistband, rubbing for a moment before withdrawing. 

With regret, Obi-Wan said, "I can't linger here with you. I must meet with Valorum and the others." He sat up on the edge of the bed, rearranging his clothing. 

"I understand. What is so heavy on your heart?" Xanatos' question was not unusual. Over the years, Obi-Wan confided many things to his favorite, who was only a few years older than the Regent, and had come to trust and respect his advice. Were it not for a quirk of fate, that turned the universe on its side and tossed aside what might have been, they would have been equals, engaged in similar battles. 

Obi-Wan hesitated as Xanatos' hand ran smoothly up the length of his spine, touching the sensitive bare skin at the base of his neck, then withdrawing. "I've heard a Jedi may have come to hide on Taganor, and if that is the case, we are all in grave danger," he explained slowly. The hand at his back froze in mid-motion, then continued as if nothing had been said. 

"Even if this Jedi is discovered here, you will find a way to make it clear none of us is involved." Xanatos' tone was decisive, persuasive. 

"I hope so." Obi-Wan fastened his shirt, and turned to Xanatos suddenly. "Is there gossip in the seraglio?" 

"There was word of an outworlder asking questions. It came through the women who went to market in Espa." Xanatos' eyes became clear as crystal suddenly, and Obi-Wan had an alarming sense that he was hiding something, but the feeling passed almost immediately. 

Still, the Regent was disturbed by the powerful sense of deception. "Indeed," he said roughly, rising from the bed, running two hands through his short hair. 

Xanatos was there beside him, comb in hand, and he quickly groomed the Regent, tucking the stray hairs into place, taking advantage of the closeness to drop tiny bites and kisses to his master's neck and shoulders. "Yes," he repeated softly, hands smoothing down hair, breath warm against Obi-Wan's skin, lips taking and retreating. 

Obi-Wan stepped away impatiently and turned to take Xanatos in his arms. "Don't play games with me, my captive," he said, in a voice low and dangerous, his eyes sending a warning. 

"Never, my master," Xanatos grinned, heart beating faster against Obi-Wan's chest. He leaned into the harsh embrace, molding his body to the Regent's, burying his face in the curve of the slender neck before him. "Unless the game is one you have devised." 

"Wait for me in my chambers tonight," Obi-Wan demanded, teeth raking down the arched neck. His hand caught Xanatos' chin, pulled it forward to give him access to those willing lips. 

"Yes, Master," Xanatos answered, before he was caught and possessed once again, all speech abandoned. 

*****

 

The small fire sizzled, assaulted by the driving rain. The Jedi poked at the base of the flames with a stick, willing it to continue burning. Smoke wafted up, wispy spirals trailing toward the sky. There had been no dry days on the once-barren world since the tall man had arrived, stowed away on a transport like illicit cargo. 

He uncurled his large frame and stretched aching muscles, cramped by the cold. Taganor was a miserable place to hide, but there were no other worlds where he might go undetected. The bounty for Jedi, living or dead, was enormous - more money than many citizens would ever hope to earn in a lifetime. It was far too tempting for most to believe the rhetoric of the Sith. The Regent of Taganor was said to have turned a blind eye to more than one fugitive, which gave the Jedi hope of a new place to call home...even if that day came in the distant future. 

Wind gusted through the makeshift tent, and the Jedi pulled the sodden fabric of his cloak close about him. It was poor shelter at best, but it would have to do. The forest was dense and deep, and he would be able to find food there, if the Force was with him. He would wait a few days before moving to a new campsite. In a week or two, he would consider sneaking aboard another vessel on his way to Yavin. The fractured remnants of the Order awaited him there, hidden deep underground - provided they had not yet been discovered. 

The fire dwindled, giving off only smoke without heat, and the Jedi reluctantly threw wet leaves across it, smothering the tell-tale smoke. Pulling his hood tightly about his face and resting one hand on his lightsaber, Qui-Gon Jinn lay down to sleep, and dream fitful dreams. 

*********

 

Six slim interceptor speeders darted across the landscape, moving fast over the target area, scanners activated and running at maximum output. Their pilots sat attentively in the open-air cockpits, oblivious to the elements, eyes fixed to the array of sensitive equipment before them. Their instructions had been quite specific - any and all life humanoid life forms in the forested areas were to be stopped and questioned, and taken into custody if they resisted. 

A sudden blip on the radar alerted the squadron leader, who quickly activated a tracking locator. "I have something, sir," he said, keying his comlink and sending the data to his commanding officer. 

"Very good," came the soft response. "Triangulate and apprehend." 

The six pilots increased their airspeed, angling toward a faint hot spot amidst a thick grove of trees and brush. Darting easily between tree trunks and tangled undergrowth, the small craft zeroed in on the tiny signal, which grew louder and larger as they approached. 

With great skill, the squadron leader dipped smoothly toward the ground as a dark shape rose, startled out of its concealed shelter. "There it is," he alerted the others. "Shadow Two, Three, veer left. Four and Five, right. Six, with me." 

Ruthlessly, they chased their loping prey through the foliage. Opening an external comlink, the squadron leader barked out a command. "Halt immediately, or we will use force to subdue you." The figure ducked ahead into low branches and scrambled right. "Fire a few stun blasts," the squadron leader instructed. A barrage of blasts rained down on the forest floor. 

Immediately the running figure stopped and turned. A flash of green sparked to life, illuminating his tall body. Each blast was met by the glowing blade and harmlessly deflected. 

"It's him," Shadow Five said grimly. 

"Increase intensity and duration to maximum," instructed their leader. A barrage of blaster fire flew furiously across the woods, and the green lightsaber repelled them all, until there was nothing but an emerald blur, too fast for the eye to follow. Until, at last, a single blast got through. 

A sharp cry, and the green light winked out as the Jedi crumpled to the ground. 

"Take him," ordered the squadron leader, maneuvering into a clearing and setting down his craft. His commander would be most pleased. 

*********

 

"What other business is there, Valorum?" The Regent leaned sideways in his chair and propped his head on his hand. 

"There is the matter of trade taxation, Excellency," Valorum answered, doing his best to ignore Obi-Wan's fingers drumming on the polished surface of the conference table. "The Sith have raised the taxation rate to half of all profits made from trade with Imperial worlds." 

"What do you think of that, my prince?" Obi-Wan asked the heir, who was seated to his right. 

"It was not entirely unexpected," said the little boy gravely. "The tariffs have risen every few lunar cycles in this system. It could have been predicted." 

"Yes, it could," Obi-Wan agreed, eyes sparkling as he looked across the table at Valorum. "Thus it is a mystery to me why no one predicted it." 

The senior advisors exchanged glances. "We had hoped for some accommodation, Excellency, given the nature of your agreement with the Empire," said a tall man seated next to Valorum. 

"Then you've not been paying attention," Obi-Wan said sharply to his Imperial Ambassador. "We are not different than any of a thousand other worlds, with one exception." His eyes darted to the heir, and then returned to Ambassador Windu, before catching the eye of each man or woman at the table in turn. "Things are changing quickly, my friends. We must be ready before these changes come, or we will be swallowed up by them." 

"Very true." Valorum began to elaborate, but was stopped by the press of his aide's hand on his shoulder, and whispered words in his ear. "Shadow Squadron's commander to see you, my lord." 

"Show him in," Obi-Wan said impatiently, gesturing to the door. As his guards hurried to obey, he turned his head and whispered conspiratorially to Anakin. "You will conduct this interview." 

"He frightens me, Obi-Wan!" the boy said, and Obi-Wan could feel waves of genuine apprehension flowing out from his charge. 

"All the more reason for you to become accustomed to this. You will have to learn the importance of hiding your fear, Anakin. You must always appear strong, in control." 

"All right," the boy whispered, eyes locked to the approaching man, who stopped and bowed. "Report," Anakin ordered in a clear, strong tone. 

One corner of the man's mouth curled up in a small smile, but his tone was respectful. "We have captured the Jedi, Highness. He is unharmed and in custody. We have had him inspected by a physician, and he has been appraised by a slavemaster, should you decide he is to be used for barter." 

Obi-Wan's eyes darkened, a small point that was not missed by the heir. 

"Who authorized you to contact a slaver?" the boy asked coldly. 

"I felt it would be prudent to see the worth of your property," came the answer. 

"You overstep yourself, commander." Anakin nodded to the door. "You're dismissed." 

The commander bowed and looked to Obi-Wan for confirmation. 

"You heard him, Maul. Have the man brought to me in the Hall of Ceremonies as soon as he is able." Maul bowed again, and with a last amused look at Anakin, departed the room. 

"Very good, Anakin," Obi-Wan soothed the young boy, who shivered. "You may yet find there is nothing to fear where Maul is concerned." 

The boy's face told of his disagreement, but he said nothing. 

*********

 

"Bring him." 

The harsh command was without emotion. Servants scrambled to obey, fearful for their own safety if they should fail. One of their number bowed and ran to the opposite end of the Hall of Ceremonies, whispering in the ear of an attentive guard at the door. A hush fell among the courtiers as their Regent sat forward on his throne, intent on the presentation of his prize. 

Soft gasps of admiration and envy rippled through the assembled crowd as the doors swung open slowly to admit a small cadre of armed men, weapons drawn. In their center, a tall man walked, head held high despite his lack of clothing. What remained of his tunic was bunched about his waist, leaving his torso bare. The marks of his captivity were plain; dozens of half-healed bruises and scratches covered his chest and back. 

All eyes followed the captive as he was pushed forward, prodded and urged by many impatient fingers. He stumbled and fell, sprawled on the tiled floor, and pressed his face against the cool mosaic patterns beneath his cheek. 

"Up, Jedi!" hissed one of the guards, bending close, tongue next to the captive's ear. 

Anger flared in the Jedi's blue eyes but was quickly suppressed as he got slowly to his feet, dragging himself toward the dais by will alone. He reached the platform and was quickly shoved face down at the Regent's feet, bare body exposed, every muscle and sinew contorted against the binders and shackles. 

"Remove the restraints." The Regent turned to the closest man in his personal guard, gesturing with the merest flicker of a finger. 

Valorum's eyebrow arched, and he leaned closer. "That wouldn't be wise, Your Excellency. May I remind you, this man is a Jedi? His powers are beyond imagining." 

"Not beyond mine, Chancellor. I assure you, he can't harm me." The cool hazel gaze turned back to the guard. "Must I repeat myself?" 

"No, my lord," answered the guard, already bending to slip the small key into the lock, releasing the shackles. He dragged the prisoner up onto his knees in order to reach and open the binders, and for the first time, the prisoner and his captor locked eyes. 

Time seemed to stand still for a moment as each man took the measure of the other. Something disturbing drifted through the room, making the crowd restless, causing vague murmurs of unease among the courtiers. There was a feeling of raw power, restrained, at the ready. 

"Well, Jedi. Your freedom is at an end." It was not said cruelly, but the words struck the tall man, and the pain of acceptance flickered through his eyes. "You did well to evade capture by the Sith these many years. However, once I decided to find you, there was little you could have done to elude me on this world." 

"Why was it so important to you to find me?" asked the captive, genuine curiosity in his eyes. 

"I have my reasons." The Regent's face betrayed nothing. "What is your name?" 

"Qui-Gon Jinn," the prisoner said. 

"I am the ruler of this world, and you will address me with respect," admonished the Regent quietly. "There are rules, and you will follow them." He studied Jinn's upturned face, searching for signs of acquiescence, finding none. 

He raised his glance to the guards. "Why was this man so badly beaten?" 

With a short bow, the captain of the guard explained, "He resisted, Excellency. I was forced to take extreme measures. He was difficult to subdue, even with the use of drugs." 

"Drugs?" The Regent's eyes narrowed. "Force-inhibiting substances?" 

"Y-yes, Majesty," the man confirmed. "The same drugs you ordered be used...I followed your orders..." 

"Silence," the Regent ordered. Something akin to admiration passed across his face; even under the influence of drugs, Jinn's command of the Force was impressive, almost enviable. He studied his captive for a moment, and then came to a decision. 

"I've been searching for you, Jedi," the Regent said, descending the five steps of the dais and dropping to one knee before his prisoner, totally unafraid. Muffled sounds of protest came from behind him, but the Regent ignored his advisors' dismay. A smile turned his lips up, but the warmth of it did not reach his eyes. "I have need of you. And we will speak of the reasons later, in a place where there may be a free exchange between us." 

"That may never be, my lord, as long as I remain a prisoner within your palace." Jinn's voice, light and cultured, carried the undertone of authority he'd doubtless used without a second thought all of his adult life. 

"Many things change, with time," the Regent said, reaching out a hand to touch the Jedi's bruised face. One finger swept quickly down the side of his cheek, retreating before the touch could carry heat and warmth to Jinn's chilled skin. "You'll be given fresh clothing, food, a place to sleep. See that you take advantage of what is offered to you. You will need your strength in the days to come." 

"Yes, my lord." Jinn's tone carried no mockery, just simple deference to a head of state; yet, there was no sense of enslavement in his attitude. 

The Regent stood gracefully and backed away as Jinn allowed the guards to lift him to his feet. Jinn stopped, regarded the Regent for a moment, and gave a short bow before he was led off. 

"I question the wisdom of allowing this man to have access to simple amenities. Would it not be best to break him first, and gain his cooperation later by restoring what is lost?" Valorum asked. 

The Regent watched after the retreating Jedi until he was gone from the Hall of Ceremonies. "What he has lost can never be restored," he answered finally, sounding strangely sad. "I have no wish to further disgrace this man if there is a way to persuade him to assist me." 

"You can never trust him." 

"If the Jedi pledges his assistance to me, gives me his loyalty, there will be no question of trust," the Regent mused. "The word of a Jedi is absolute." 

"I still think-" Valorum protested, but Obi-Wan stopped him with a look. 

"You worry too much, old man," he said fondly. "I will be cautious. Of that, you need have no fear. After these many years as my chief advisor, you should know I do nothing without purpose." 

"As always, my lord." Valorum inclined his head with a small smile. 

"Be assured," Obi-Wan said softly. "I have a plan in mind." 

*********

 

The Regent made his way through the fortress, accompanied by a number of guards, surrounded by them, and yet never safe. There seemed to be deep tension among his elite guards, some simmering undercurrent, difficult to place. He tried to shake off the feeling of danger, but it crawled around the base of his spine, and he had learned from experience never to ignore his inner voices. 

At the wide doors of the harem, the guards stopped automatically, assuming positions outside the perimeter as their ruler keyed in a personal code and waited for the optical scan to confirm his identity. The doors ground open, and he shouldered through them, impatient. 

The smells of sweet erreria blooms flooded his senses, bringing a smile to his face. Xanatos knew what he liked, and went to great lengths to see the seraglio was always supplied with fresh erreria and callia flowers. There was an underlying scent, the perfume of exotic women, the musk of waiting men, and he ignored the arousal of those memories as he made his way through the dimly lit halls. 

Distant sounds of soft chatter, the music of women's voices and the low tones of men, reached his ears from deeper within the seraglio, but many were asleep at the late hour. He never sent for anyone so late, unless it was Xanatos or a new favorite, and his habits were well known among his people. Most retired for the evening if he did not arrive by twilight. He was grateful to be known so well, for it spared him the interruption of pleasantries and small talk this night. 

He reached the quarters he sought and entered without preamble, catching the tall Jedi in the act of dressing. His long hair was still damp, falling heavily about his shoulders, letting loose small drops of water to run in rivulets across the broad chest. 

Unconcerned, Jinn toweled off and drew on a brown tunic, belting it across the buttery soft trousers he wore. Barefoot, he dried the excess moisture from his hair before facing the Regent, a look of resigned expectation on his face. 

"I trust the quarters are suitable for you," Obi-Wan said wryly, amused by the Jedi's presence of mind and lack of fear. 

"They will do," Jinn answered, a small smile curling the corner of his mouth. He bowed slightly to the smaller man, a suitable gesture of obeisance. 

Obi-Wan nodded his head in acknowledgment, noting Jinn's eyes fixed on his waist for a moment. "Your weapon," he said, taking the lightsaber from his belt and placing it on the table nearest the door. At Jinn's questioning look, he asked, "You think me unwise to leave this weapon within reach of your hand?" 

"I think you are a man who does little without purpose," Jinn answered slowly, reaching out with the Force and encountering a solid wall of resistance. 

Obi-Wan felt the subtle probe and responded to it with a gentle push, blocking the other man's efforts completely. The two men looked long at one another, a struggle for understanding and dominance taking place without a word being spoken. 

"Why did you come to Taganor?" the Regent asked, seating himself on a low couch and reclining, his posture more at ease than his wary mind. "Did you think to hide here?" 

"I knew of this world when it was but a barren place," Jinn answered, taking the only other seat in the room, eyes never leaving the Regent despite his apparent lack of concern. "I felt it would be an appropriate planet to seek shelter." 

"You've not kept current with the times, Jedi. This world was re-engineered by the Empire. Now there are no places to hide, no areas not controlled by the Sith, directly or indirectly. The spaceports and scum are gone for good." 

"And what has the price of all this...bounty...been?" asked Jinn, a faint hint of sarcasm coloring his tone. 

"Many deaths," Obi-Wan answered, hand unconsciously twitching near his blaster. He allowed himself to feel the weight of the knife strapped to his leg, the energy of the weapon at his side, and took comfort from their heavy presence. "I've done what was necessary to save the lives of those who remain here. And to protect the heir on this world." 

"Your internal politics are of no consequence to me." For a moment, the sadness of several lifetimes was reflected in the blue depths of Jinn's eyes, eloquent in their pain. "I have seen the deaths of dozens of worlds at the hands of the Sith. What would you have me say?" 

"Say nothing," suggested the Regent, smiling. "Instead, offer me your loyalty. I need your help, Jedi." Obi-Wan sat up and planted his legs on the floor, knees falling open as he rested his elbows there, clasping his hands. "I am in need of protection, and I can't rely on the guards who surround me now. There are whispers about these halls...I can't close my eyes too tightly when I sleep, for fear I will not wake." 

"Again, your safety is not my concern," Jinn said. "You serve the Sith." 

"I serve no one," Obi-Wan said, fury underlying his proud words. "The Sith leave me in peace because they recognize I cannot be controlled. This world will not be conquered. I have a duty..." The Regent stopped abruptly, acutely aware of the other man's inquisitive gaze. He rose from the couch, striding toward the low table, and poured a glass of a pale yellow liquid. That midnight gaze lingered on his body, causing strange shivers of anticipation and desire to cascade down his spine. The sensation was unfamiliar, too close to losing control...he was not ready for it. 

"If you know anything of the ways of the Jedi, you understand why I cannot assist you in this. We-" the Jedi began, but his words were stopped by the outstretched hand of the Regent. 

"I know more than you might imagine," came the reply. Obi-Wan lifted the glass and downed the fiery concoction, then refilled the glass, and another waiting beside the pitcher on the table. He crossed the room, offering the glass to his prisoner, who hesitated a brief moment before reaching for it. 

Fingertips touched briefly, lightly, as the glass changed hands. For a moment, Obi-Wan's world seemed smaller, confined to the room he occupied, the spark in his hands, the uncertainty in his body. Once again, their eyes found one another, like magnets seeking their match, and something passed between them. A sort of soldier's bond, perhaps.... 

Obi-Wan threw it off quickly, withdrawing his hand and moving away, circling the room like an animal caged too long. "I know your duty is to protect the innocent, to seek peaceful resolution to conflict. You would violate no oath by assisting me, for in that way, you would protect the boy in whose stead I rule." Keeping his tone casual, he added, "You know of the prophecy...the Chosen One?" 

Jinn was on his feet, moving before Obi-Wan was even aware of it. This man is truly powerful, he thought, before the Jedi was so close to him he barely could step aside. A wave of Force energy rippled toward him, like an arrow on course to its target. 

Without effort, Obi-Wan deflected the energy, lifting his body with the remnants of that power and easily somersaulting through the air. He reached out his hand, called the lightsaber to him, and tucked it into his palm. His thumb moved against the activation switch, but he did not power the weapon. He met Jinn's astonished eyes, and a grin came across his features, born of delight and pride. 

"You are Force adept...trained in its use," Jinn said, stating the obvious, unable to keep shock from his voice. "Who are you? What do you know of the prophecy? Who is your heir? What -" 

"All things in good time, Jedi." The Regent allowed a measure of satisfaction to overtake him. He opened his senses to the Force, and found the room charged with emotion. Jinn's body sent subtle signals of attraction, admiration, and his own body responded to the lure, like a captain to a siren call. "I haven't survived this long by revealing all I know," he added. 

"You can't expect my trust after...I am your prisoner," Jinn reminded him. 

"I expect nothing but a decision," Obi-Wan clarified. "Will you serve me as bodyguard?" 

"I owe you no allegiance," the Jedi answered, a spark of defiance deepening the blue of his eyes. "I cannot pledge to protect you." 

"But you will serve me, Jedi, in one capacity, or in another. You belong to me. That fact should now be apparent to you." The Regent's fingers traced the sleek shape of Jinn's lightsaber, and the delicate threat implied by his actions was not lost on the Jedi. "You are my property, Qui-Gon Jinn. Nothing more. Your former life is over. And I will treat you as well as you deserve. If you make this difficult, I will see to it your life is a miserable one. If you cooperate, there will be rewards." 

"No reward will make me break my oath as a Jedi. We are forbidden to interfere in the causes of war. I am not convinced of your motives. And you give me no evidence, no reason to believe this child is...what you say. It's ridiculous." Jinn's tone became cutting, harsh. 

Kenobi took the refusal with stoic calm. He expected no less. "I owe you nothing, Jedi. But you will serve as I see fit. If I cannot trust you, you will be put to use elsewhere...where trust is not an issue between us." He moved to the wall nearest the door, keying a small com panel there. "These apartments you occupy are part of my seraglio. You understand what that means?" 

"A harem," Jinn said flatly. 

Kenobi's head tilted as he watched the reaction settle in. "You will remain here, and your only function in this world will be to pleasure me. If you don't succeed, you'll be put to death." 

"There is no death, there is the Force," Qui-Gon said quietly. 

"For you, perhaps," Obi-Wan said, nodding slowly. "I anticipated this. Stubborn adherence to your Code will gain you nothing." 

The door slid open, and two guards entered, pulling a very young man between them. Fearful eyes, crystal blue, peered out from beneath golden lashes before the boy was pushed to his knees, forehead to the floor. "This boy is you, Qui-Gon Jinn. He stands in your place when punishment is warranted. The lash will mark his skin instead of yours. And if he dies under the punishment, I will find another to take his place." Obi-Wan waited until the full impact of his words was clear. He moved closer to Jinn, tilting his head up, so close he could smell the scent of his skin. "You will obey." 

Jinn said nothing, only lowered his head to look at the man whose body pressed close to his. "Why did you not use this threat to force me into service as your bodyguard?" he asked, wondering, waiting to know, fearing the answer. 

"It's a question of want," Obi-Wan answered, one hand roaming the front of Jinn's tunic, stopping over the belt, resting there. "And I find I want...something I cannot provide for myself." He reached up with one hand, pulling the Jedi's head down, and their lips met briefly in an explosion of need, of desire that should not exist, of power shared and reciprocated, before Kenobi pulled away and listened to the resonance of the Force within him. Somehow, this was right, and Jinn knew it also; it was in his eyes, in the acceptance he felt of the passion between them. 

Without another word, the Regent turned, gesturing to the guards, and was gone from the room, leaving Jinn alone with his thoughts.


	2. Bound by the Invisible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter originally posted 1/3/2000.

Obi-Wan clutched at the powerful, slender hips above his own, slid his hands down the thighs straddling his body, through the sheen of sweat that covered the muscular legs. His fingers wandered away from that body and up his own chest, rising languidly up his flexing stomach, stopping to rub at a hard brown nipple. 

The man above him rode him slowly, rising above him carefully, then settling again, his movements forming an erotic circle. He took the thick cock into his body, gasping his pleasure as it plunged deep inside him, then raised himself above the wanton tableau, tightening his muscles as he rose. Muscles tense, his own cock rock hard, he became the perfect offering of carnality. His piercing blue eyes never wavered from his master's face as they slowly fluttered closed against unbearably perfect sensations. 

Xanatos' hand encircled his erection, and he stroked its length, still wet with the warmth of his master's mouth. Head thrown back, he touched himself, fingers intimately caressing the head of his cock with blissful self-torture, nails scraping across the sensitive flesh. 

Obi-Wan watched through slitted eyes as ecstasy built in his belly, growing more electric every time he thrust inside Xan. Now his lover was moaning audibly, no longer attempting to hide his rapture, and Obi-Wan swatted away the hand that surrounded the weeping organ, jutting up against Xan's stomach, begging for attention. He began to stroke, hard and fast, and Xan increased his rhythm to match, leaning forward slightly, bracing himself over Obi-Wan's body as he plunged down harder, eyes still closed. 

"Look at me," Obi-Wan commanded, his voice harsh between panting breaths. The blue eyes opened, filled with beautiful, unmistakable passion, and Obi-Wan fell across the threshold, lost in their stark beauty. He chanted Xanatos' name as he came, filling his lover with his seed, hovering near the brink of unconsciousness. 

Xanatos made a growling, keening cry, and came into the clutched circle of Obi-Wan's relentless fingers, wracked by the aftermath of a shuddering orgasm he could not control. 

For a moment, they were frozen in time, imbedded in each other. Then, Xan's dark lashes hid his eyes once again as he swung his leg over Obi-Wan's supine body, easing himself down on the rumpled bed. They lay exhausted, without touching or speaking, as the room grew darker and a chill invaded the warmth of the bed. 

Finally, Obi-Wan turned on his side to look at his lover, who was nearly asleep. He bent his head and kissed the full lips, licking at them just a little, and smiled when Xan fixed him with a sleepy grin. 

"Are you satisfied, my master?" Xan asked, reaching up to touch Obi-Wan's face. 

"I am," came the quiet reply. 

"Then I am satisfied, also," said his lover, snuggling into Obi-Wan's chest. 

Obi-Wan merely pulled the sheet up, covering him gently. 

"I have not pleased you," Xan said, alarm tensing his body as he pulled back slightly. It was their custom for Xanatos to take advantage of the few privileges allowed him by virtue of his status as the Regent's favorite. One of those was the closeness they enjoyed after pleasuring one another. 

Obi-Wan ignored the strange tension gathering in his heart, and smiled reassuringly. "You *have* pleased me, as always, my favorite. I am simply preoccupied tonight. Your presence is always a welcome distraction." 

"Something is wrong," Xan said warily. "I feel a distance between us, master." 

"It's nothing you've done," Obi-Wan said, relenting finally and gathering Xan to him, but his lover twisted in his arms, slippery as a feline. 

"I do not wish to occupy your bed if it is inconvenient to you," Xanatos said. There was hurt in his tone, overlaid with ice. 

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed at the tone of voice, and his features hardened. Immediately, he climbed off the bed and stalked across the large, sumptuous room, stopping to draw on a robe. "You forget your place. It seems to happen more frequently than I should tolerate," he said, tamping down the rising anger welling within him. "You are here only because I wish it, and when that wish dies, you are of no use to me." 

He felt the ripples of fear and dismay moving out through the Force, and relished them. 

"Oh, my master," Xanatos gasped. There was the noise of rustling sheets. Obi-Wan did not deign to turn his body as Xan flung himself at the Regent's feet, head touching the bare floor. "I did not mean to offend. Please, forgive me." 

"Get up," Obi-Wan said coldly. 

Xanatos rose instantly to his feet with fluid grace, standing immobile, hands at his sides, head bowed in submission. 

"When did I give you leave to question me?" he asked, tone as sharp as a razor. 

"You did not, my lord." Xanatos' head dropped even lower. "I have been given the benefit of your favor, and I presumed upon it." 

"Yes, you did." Obi-Wan grasped his chin, tilted his face up to see the expression in those eyes which so captivated him. There was remorse, and respect. "I have freely given you many things, but you may never *take* what I do not offer. You are not a scorned lover. You are a slave. One I value, and appreciate. But nothing more. Never forget that." 

"No, my lord." The look in those eyes softened. "I truly did not mean offense to you, my master." 

"No matter," Obi-Wan said, releasing him. "For you *did* offend me." 

The head dropped down again, chin against firm chest, but this time Xan did not speak. 

Obi-Wan studied the body he desired most among all those he had conquered, and felt a surge of regret. He was responsible for Xan's willfulness; he encouraged it by speaking often of his feelings and his plans with the slave, and confiding in him when troubled. In truth, he was reluctant to stop; the young man had a sharp mind, and was skilled at solving problems. 

"Now," Obi-Wan said, "tell me why you are behaving like a petulant child." 

"I am aware of your interest in the Jedi," Xan said, meeting his eyes slowly. "You have made certain he is not to be punished, and the entire seraglio knows another slave will take the burden of his mistakes. Why do you show such favor to one you do not know, who will gladly see this world and its ruler destroyed?" 

Typically curious, and straightforward. Obi-Wan mused that Xanatos seemed to constantly contradict himself; he could be compliant and willing one moment, and sharply quizzical the next, focused on the problem at hand. It was almost as though one guise was a façade, and the other a mirror, and Obi-Wan could not see either clearly enough to be sure what he dealt with. 

"You know already I will say it is none of your concern." Obi-Wan smiled slightly. "And yet, you persist in asking." 

"I would not like to see you harmed," Xan said softly, and as he spoke, Obi-Wan was staggered by the release of emotion into the Force; desire, fear, apprehension, truth. Whether the fear was for Obi-Wan or for himself, the Regent could not tell. 

"You need not fear slavery if I die," Obi-Wan said, testing him. "As is the custom, all inhabitants of the seraglio will be freed if I am killed." 

"That is not my wish, my master." 

The words were spoken firmly, with absolute truth. Obi-Wan was sure of it. He stepped forward and kissed the corner of the lush mouth. "You do not wish to be free?" he asked, and the kiss of passion he received in return answered his every question. 

"I wish to be of service to you," Xan said, leaning into the touch of Obi-Wan's hand. 

For the first time, Obi-Wan experienced a powerful feeling of betrayal in his own heart, and it took him by surprise. He examined the emotion, but it fled quickly, leaving a lingering impression that he was in the wrong place, touching the wrong man. With effort, he shook off the feeling, but it would not be denied. 

He threw off the robe and dressed, taking care not to give the impression of haste. "I must go," he said. "The suns will rise all too soon, and I have endless meetings to prepare for." 

"Stay here," Xanatos urged, smiling. "Sleep in my arms." 

"A tempting offer," Obi-Wan answered, turning to catch Xan's shoulders with his arm and pull him into a kiss. "But I have data to review, and you will only distract me." 

"As you wish." Xan stepped away from the Regent. "Good night, Obi-Wan." 

"Good night." With a smile, the Regent keyed open the door and stepped through. As it slid closed behind him, he began to walk, and a frown creased his forehead. 

Of all the many troubling things he had accepted when he came to Taganor, the seraglio was the one he was often secretly grateful for. It was a place where only his desires mattered, and such a thing reminded him of his status, and of his power. He could not afford to become complacent, or to be too kind. The seraglio cemented his reputation, allowed him to preserve the image of a man whose will was law across the planet, in every corner. He was able to offset the few good things he could do, by holding hundreds of men and women hostage to his will, as an example... 

Not for the first time, a small twinge of guilt nagged at him. He pushed it aside, reminding himself of the greater good. Some things were inevitable. Best to let them be. 

With a start, he realized he was standing still in front of Jinn's quarters. He had stopped moving without conscious will, almost as though his body were disregarding his mind. 

He could feel Jinn in there...he knew the other man was aware of his presence. Emotions trickled into the Force, and Obi-Wan smiled. Jinn was skillful at shielding himself, but he was not prepared for someone of equal ability. He could use those feelings to his advantage. The trick would be not to get caught up in his own web. 

After a moment more, he turned and continued silently down the corridor, disappearing from sight. 

***********

 

There was a saying Qui-Gon remembered from his childhood, something about a prison with silken walls. The exact phrase eluded him, but the meaning was illustrated for him in every tassel and plush cushion of his new quarters. It was a comfortable imprisonment, to be sure, but he was trapped as surely as an animal in a cage, confined and managed through threats and barbarism. 

He knelt in the middle of the hard tile floor, in the center of a brightly colored mosaic, and closed his eyes to the garish surroundings. This was not his place; he did not belong among such luxury. He put aside his feeling of hopelessness, and his anger. Instead, he tried to focus on the problem at hand. 

The Regent was obviously some sort of Force-adept, but what puzzled Qui-Gon was the control and finesse with which he used his ability. He was deeply disturbed by the way he was drawn to the man. The kiss he'd given...that was taken from him...had stirred something deep inside him, and he tried to draw the feeling out, to examine it. His heart refused to cooperate. 

For many years, he had lived in a self-imposed void. Being a Jedi gave him certain options, and he had chosen to take advantage of a celibate lifestyle to avoid any more crushing disappointments. There were certain chapters of his life best left closed, for they did not bear the light of examination particularly well. His bad judgment had contributed to some spectacular personal and professional disasters, and when he was of a mind to, he used those errors to flagellate himself mercilessly. There was so much to blame himself for, so many friends dead, fellow warriors he had not been able to help. Their images tormented him, mocking his calm control. 

Breathing heavily, Qui-Gon tried to quiet his mind, but the memories persisted. He recalled his master, now dead, his essence lost to time and the Force. He remembered his first student, mercurial like a racing tongue of fire across the sky, talent and will merging to make him a formidable enemy. Also dead, buried beneath the rubble of the Temple he once called home. And so many friends and colleagues, killed in battle or scattered about the galaxy, hunted like prey. 

He put a hand across his eyes, and one great, shuddering sob escaped him, born of his sadness and despair. With a supreme act of will, he centered himself, but the resonance of his pain spread out into the Force, broadcasting his feelings before he could contain it. 

And then he felt the presence of a man on the other side of the door, the man who brought him here, who held him against his will. He rose to his feet, staring at the door, waiting without breathing for it to open...but it remained closed, and the presence on the other side faded away. 

Slowly the feeling of sharp anticipation passed, and Qui-Gon sank back down to his knees, grateful for the reprieve. There was much to contemplate. He closed his eyes once again and lowered himself into a meditative state, brushing away old memories, capturing tranquillity through force of will. He was almost there, almost one with the Force, when the door behind him slid open, and someone entered quietly. But not the Regent... 

Qui-Gon's eyes snapped open and he rose quickly to face his visitor, a tall man with silver hair, clad in dark robes. "Who are you?" he asked in an even tone, betraying nothing of his inner turmoil.

The tall man bowed slightly, and the grave expression on his face never wavered. "I am Lord High Chancellor Valorum, advisor to His Excellency, Regent Kenobi. I trust you find these quarters suitable?" he asked, cultured tones clipped with formality. 

"These are not quarters. Must we speak in pleasantries?" Qui-Gon asked. Irritation crept into his tone. "I am a captive. No amount of luxury will erase my status." 

"Indeed, Jedi. What would you have me say?" Valorum asked, posture stiffening. "I've come to see that you are well, and that your needs are being met, as ordered by my lord." 

"I require only food, and drink. And a place to sleep." 

"Then you are well-supplied," Valorum said dryly. "You are free to walk about the seraglio, and to interact with the people you meet within its walls. Should you venture outside, you will be punished." 

"No, I won't," Qui-Gon said bitterly. "Is there nothing you can do to prevent that child from taking my punishment?" 

"He is not a child. He is a grown man, and a slave. As you are," he added pointedly. 

"I am no man's slave." The tone was simple, full of underlying defiance and truth. 

A look of worry passed across Valorum's features. "You are fortunate to be alive. Were the Regent concerned with his own safety, you and I would not be having this conversation, Jedi. He has done you an enormous favor, and spared your life." 

"I do not owe your Regent servitude simply because he did not have me killed. One man cannot own another." Qui-Gon's voice softened, became almost neutral in tone. "What does the Regent truly want of me?" 

"I -" Valorum began, then stopped suddenly, blinking. His eyes narrowed as he realized the Jedi had just used the Force to prod him. "If I must give you Force-inhibiting drugs again, I will make certain you receive a dose large enough to incapacitate you." 

Jinn smiled slightly. "I don't think the Regent would approve." 

"It would not be wise to underestimate his commitment to this world, Jedi." Valorum hesitated. "You are, ultimately, expendable." 

"I have always been expendable," Qui-Gon answered. "Nothing in my current circumstances alters that fact." 

The two men regarded one another in silence. Qui-Gon sensed a sort of wary admiration from the older man, as well as a guarded, cautious curiosity. He began to understand that the Chancellor was not privy to the Regent's plans regarding him, and his own curiosity became all the stronger. Another piece of the puzzle... 

"Well," Valorum said, breaking the quiet of the moment. "Remember my warning. Inside the seraglio, not beyond." 

"Yes," Qui-Gon replied, thinking through the dozen or so methods of escape he had already considered as Valorum departed. 

Valorum had said he was free to walk about. Perhaps it was time to test the theory. 

Taking a deep breath, Qui-Gon keyed the exit panel. To his surprise, it was operational, and the doors slid open. He stepped out into the corridor, wondering which direction to go. Valorum was moving away to his right; he chose the opposite direction and began to walk, deeper into the heart of the seraglio. 

**  
"The Jedi's presence here is a threat to all of us. He should be killed immediately." The harsh words of the Ambassador echoed off the polished stone walls of the dimly lit room. The senior advisors seated at the table flinched at the sound. 

"Lower your voice," hissed Councilor Gallia, digging her fingernails into Windu's arm with a grip tight enough to draw blood. "Would you have the Regent alerted to the fact that we meet here in secret? What do you think he would do to us if he knew we were questioning his right to rule?" 

"He *has* no right to rule," Windu answered, annoyed and angry. "He rules merely by virtue of the blood ties he shares with the heir. And because he's somehow managed to fool the Emperor into believing he is loyal to their cause." 

"Kenobi has ruled here without bloodshed. We have that, at least, to be thankful for," Mundi said. 

"He is a Sith!" growled Windu. "And he is a traitor to them. He has taken in a sworn enemy because he is either too weak or too foolish to see the danger in it. He betrays them, and he betrays us as well, because this weakness will bring destruction upon us." 

"You still underestimate his grasp of the situation. He has never made a decision without carefully considering the repercussions." Valorum spoke calmly, without emotion. 

"You defend him no matter what he does," Mundi said. "If he loses his grasp on things here, we are all lost." 

"He will retain power until His Highness comes of age," Valorum insisted. "Harboring one Jedi cannot undermine what he has accomplished here. And the heir trusts and respects him, which is all the Emperor needs to know." 

Ambassador Windu stood and leaned across the table, hissing furiously in Valorum's face. "You will be the first to die, Valorum, when the Sith arrive and take control. That will be your reward for your loyalty." 

Valorum fixed him with steely eyes. "I know where my loyalty will lead me, Mace." 

"Stop this," Gallia said. "Stop it at once. We mustn't argue amongst ourselves. We must be clear about what we will do, how we will save our world and ourselves, if the Sith come." 

"Oh, they will come," Mundi said. "The only question remaining is when. When, and how many." 

"Kenobi is already fixated on this Jedi. He is distracted. We should move against him now." Gallia's hands began to tremble as she spoke, and she hid them in her lap. 

"No." Valorum's voice carried the ring of authority, a tone he rarely used. "We must wait and see what Kenobi has in mind. He has established control over the Jedi, and feels he may be useful in the effort to keep the Sith from taking over here." 

"Has he told you how?" Windu asked dubiously. 

"No. He has not shared that with me--yet. But we must give him time." 

"Time is the one thing we have too little of," Windu said. 

The four of them exchanged glances, and sat without speaking, at an impasse. 

***********

 

Deep laughter echoed down the corridors, growing louder as Qui-Gon approached the center of the seraglio. The voices of men reached his ears, snippets of conversation about politics, the Sith, and Taganor. The chatter died down as Qui-Gon entered the courtyard, and several pairs of eyes raked over him with stark appraisal as he neared the group. 

He was surprised by the small number of men, and astonished by their physical beauty. Certainly he had never given much thought to what might happen inside a harem, but of course it was a realm almost entirely concerned with the giving of pleasure. It was reasonable to assume all those inside would be pleasing to the eye. He noted that there were no women. 

With difficulty, he detached himself and picked apart his surroundings. By far, he was the oldest of the five men present. By twenty years at least, he mused wryly. One of them was the young golden-haired boy who was to be his stand-in when he broke the rules. Two were slightly older, twins, both with long dark hair tied at the napes of their necks and brown eyes. The fourth was a taller blond, muscular, with laughing green eyes. 

"You must be the Jedi," said the tall blonde, grinning. "Daro here has been telling us a great deal about you. He says you're not pleased to be here." 

"I would say that is a fair analysis," Qui-Gon answered, smiling a little. "I am Qui-Gon Jinn." 

"I'm Ket'al." Gesturing over his shoulder, Ket'al said, "Those two are Mathius and Leyran, and you've already met Daro." 

"I would think you would be less than pleased to see me," Qui-Gon said to Daro, who was approaching him with a smile. 

"It's not your fault," Daro answered, halting in front of him and looking him over from head to toe. "Besides, he knows you won't risk letting me get hurt. That's the only reason he did it." 

Qui-Gon had the distinct impression he was being inspected thoroughly, and it both amused and unsettled him. "So you don't believe he would have harmed you in my place?" 

"Of course he would." Daro's noncommittal tone gave Qui-Gon pause, until the young man added, "But you won't let that happen, will you?" 

"This isn't such a bad place to be, you know." Ket'al squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "The Regent is kind to all of us, and has never mistreated anyone here. No one has ever been forced to service him." 

"We do it willingly," Daro said, looking up at Qui-Gon with startling blue eyes. "He is very talented." 

"Very," Ket'al chuckled. "The four of us are summoned the most often to his bed." 

"Unless he wants his favorite," Daro said jealously, running a hand over Qui-Gon's broad biceps. "And he always wants his favorite, lately. But you might be just the one to change that..." 

"Daro," warned a voice from behind them. 

Qui-Gon looked up to see a warning clearly showing in Mathius' eyes. 

"Never mind that," Ket'al said pleasantly. "Most of us were relieved to be here. There are far worse places...brothels...slave ships." He winced. "You've probably seen the conditions in those places." At Qui-Gon's affirmative nod, he continued, "Here we are clothed, and treated well, and fortunate enough to be pleasure slaves to a man who has some values left, and who doesn't treat us badly." 

"But you are still his prisoners," Qui-Gon said quietly. 

"As I said, there are worse places. Most of us were gifts to the Regent. Some of us were given in trade. All of us had seen enough to know we were very lucky to come here." 

"How many others are here?" Qui-Gon asked, thinking of the sheer size of the seraglio. 

"A hundred or more, now," Daro said, returning to a comfortable couch near the fountain at the center of the courtyard. "Not all men, either. Some women, too." 

"He doesn't summon the women," Mathius said, chuckling, and the others chimed in with soft laughter. 

"I think he likes a strong bedmate," Leyran added with a grin. 

"He also likes submission," Daro said, stretching his body out with a small growl that might be mistaken for a purr. "And so do I." 

Ket'al rolled his eyes. "Anything else you'd like to add, Daro?" he asked, in a tone laced with sarcasm. 

Daro rolled over onto his stomach. "He fucks like a dream. And he tastes like spice when he comes." 

At that, both Mathius and Leyran broke into full-blown laughter. Qui-Gon found himself chuckling as well. 

"Now you know why he chose Daro for your stand-in," Ket'al said, a wicked smile curving his lips. 

Qui-Gon nodded. The Regent was obviously adept at seeing the strengths and weaknesses in others. It helped to explain why he didn't mind if Qui-Gon knew these men, and why he knew Qui-Gon would never take the chance that Daro would actually be abused in his place, regardless of Daro's...compliant nature. 

"One of the reasons he doesn't summon the women is that he prefers men, yes. But he also never forces anyone. If he is refused, he sends the slave away, or summons them again after they've had a chance to get adjusted," Ket'al explained. 

"Once you have been in his bed, there is no question that you would want to return," Mathius said, his voice low with remembered rapture. "And he is a harsh master there...you must do as he says." 

"Which Daro doesn't mind at all," Ket'al said with a wink. 

"Neither do I, and you don't either," Mathius said to Ket'al in a knowing tone. 

"It's interesting that he's using Daro to keep you in line," Leyran said thoughtfully. "He's never forced anyone in the seraglio to comply through threats before." 

"It's a mystery to me," Daro said, shrugging. "You're not the type he usually likes." 

"I wonder how the Regent came to be here," Qui-Gon mused, taking a seat on a bench near Mathius. 

"The heir is his cousin, and the Sith sent the Kenobi to rule because they think the little boy has some kind of special powers. They were both born here, when the planet was still called Tatooine." Mathius paused, and looked at his brother. 

"There's a rumor the Regent was once a slave, but that he was sold to some traders when he was young, and didn't return here until he was an adult. No one knows where he was before that time, really," Leyran added. 

"I keep telling them he's a Sith Lord," Daro said smugly. "But they don't believe me. Why else would the Sith put him here, and then leave him alone?" 

"That's a very good question," Qui-Gon said slowly. "And I-" 

"Qui-Gon Jinn." At the sound of his name being spoken, all of the men turned. A guard stood in the doorway to the corridor, waiting. "You will come with me." 

***********

 

It was a short trip back to his quarters, and Qui-Gon was not at all surprised to find the Regent inside, sprawled across his bed fully clothed, drinking a glass of some sort of wine. As the door closed behind him, he stood still, waiting. 

"Was your excursion enlightening?" Kenobi asked. A lazy smile played about his lips . 

"It was most interesting," Qui-Gon answered. 

One last sip from the glass, and Kenobi set it on the low table by the bed. "Disrobe." His eyes glittered in the artificial light. 

"I have been told you do not force your slaves to serve you," Qui-Gon said, ignoring the strange flutterings in the Force that both confused and aroused him. He was confounded by his own body, and try as he might, the desire would not be ignored. He was amazed at the power of those feelings and troubled by his inability to control them. "I do not wish to serve you." 

"Ordinarily, I would accept your words, but you are not an ordinary slave, Jinn." Kenobi rolled to his side and propped his head up on his hand. "You were not sold to my seraglio master; you were not traded for goods, or given to me as a gift. 

"You have not been trained in the giving of pleasure yet. I find myself consumed with curiosity about your abilities." His voice lowered to a soft growl. "And so are you. I feel it." 

Qui-Gon said nothing, but his traitorous body was on fire. Kenobi's eyes were on his, and the lust in them was like a burning sun, adding its heat to the inferno in his own blood. 

He started with the tunic, releasing the sash and dropping it to the floor, then pulled the rough fabric over his head, shivering slightly as it slid across his nipples. His gaze flashed up to Kenobi's, and he watched with dark eyes as the Regent adjusted his posture, leaning back against the pillows, body curled seductively across the coverlet. 

Quickly, he unbuckled and tugged off his boots, setting them aside. His fingers caught the fastenings of his trousers and opened them. Holding the other man's gaze, he slipped his hands beneath the waistband and pushed them over his hips, letting them fall to the ground, exposing a hard erection against his belly, dark with the blood of arousal. 

Obi-Wan went to his knees on the bed, looking much like a feline about to pounce. "Come here." 

Qui-Gon went to him, and climbed onto the bed where the Regent beckoned, kneeling there before him, thighs slightly apart. The smaller man's hands were on him in an instant, with a touch so familiar and possessive it sent a shudder rippling up from the base of Qui-Gon's spine. His shaft was briefly enclosed by warm fingers that tightened roughly as they stroked the quivering length. He was helpless to prevent the tremor of need that followed, or the gasp that fell from his parted lips. 

Hands cupped his shoulders, slid down his arms and across his chest. The possessive touch moved down across the belly and the flexed muscles of his back - and then he was released. 

"Undress me." Kenobi's own breathing was uneven, and Qui-Gon saw the muscles of his neck tense as he reached for the fastenings of the tight shirt, undoing them with quick motions. His large hands pushed beneath the cloth, opening it, exposing a slim body, lean and muscled. He let the shirt fall free and turned his attention to the trousers, and the swollen shaft freed by his actions. 

Kenobi's hands twined in his hair, releasing the tie that held it in place. He drew Qui-Gon close, and their lips met with bruising force, as Qui-Gon opened to the kiss, inviting the tongue that flickered against his. Turning the tables, he teased open the Regent's soft mouth with deliberate, sensual strokes of his tongue, waiting to hear the ragged intake of breath that followed. 

In that moment, Qui-Gon Jinn closed his mind to the Code, and to his duty, and to his past. His arms closed around the Regent's body, uninvited, without demand, pressing their bodies together as they grappled for skin to touch, evoking small noises, marking territory. 

The Regent moved, falling back onto the bed, and Qui-Gon followed, yanking the trousers from Obi-Wan's legs. He looked at the face of his captor, and knew without words what was wanted. Carefully, moaning softly as his erection pressed against the sheets, he parted the Regent's legs and settled between them, taking the sleek hips in his big hands, lifting them. 

Without preamble, he lowered his head and caught the other man's cock between his lips, licking gently around the head, closing his eyes at Kenobi's low, erotic moan. He suckled at the shaft, tightening his mouth around it as he took the young man deep into his throat, keeping a steady pressure as he tasted every inch of that shaft with his tongue. 

Kenobi's back arched off the bed, even as Qui-Gon pushed his own hips into the mattress in a rhythm matching the pace he'd set above. The cock in his mouth twitched as the suction surrounding it grew tighter, and pulsed its seed into his throat as Kenobi came, thrashing beneath him. He watched the expression on his captor's face with something as close to pure lust as he had ever experienced, and he came without warning, warm wetness seeping into the coverlet beneath his belly as he released the softening shaft from his mouth. 

Spent, Kenobi lay still, and Qui-Gon felt those eyes on him again as he pushed himself up, settling back into a kneeling position between the other man's legs. Neither spoke; neither moved. Qui-Gon could feel the Force-energy swirling around them; its power was immense, and could not be denied. He had not arrived there by accident. That much was becoming clear to him, in the message of the Force, and in the beautiful eyes of the stranger below him. 

He had trapped himself, made himself a prisoner by his own actions. Now he would have to decide if this man's life was more important than his freedom, and what he would do if the answer to that question went against everything he believed. 

And how he could remain a Jedi, if the Force had bound his heart to a Sith.


	3. Symbols of Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon begins his lessons in the giving of pleasure, Obi-Wan makes choices regarding his favorite slave and the boy who will one day rule Taganor, and there is a revelation about Qui-Gon's past.

Obi-Wan stared up at the man who had just pleasured him, trying desperately to focus, to gain control of the situation. His body trembled with the aftershocks of ecstasy, made more powerful by the strange, inexorable commands of the Force. He felt it tangibly, as though the command had been spoken softly in his ear - he was tied to the man he meant to enslave, and there would be no compromise. 

His gaze was locked to the passion-darkened blue of Qui-Gon Jinn's eyes, and he took in every detail of his would-be slave as the man knelt before him on the bed. Long hair, unbound, falling about broad shoulders, tinted with hints of silver and duller gray. A heavily muscled chest, narrowing into a flat belly, rising and falling with quick breaths. Large hands with long fingers, resting on parted thighs, fingers curled against sweat-sheened skin. A glistening shaft, wet with evidence of passion, which seemed to respond to the intangible touch of a look as Obi-Wan's eyes brushed across it. 

It was impossible, but true. There was some sort of bond between them, growing stronger by the moment. The thought widened his eyes and brought a tinge of panic to his heart. It was not what he wanted, or needed; it could not be allowed to interfere with the good of his world. 

"No," he said. Then, in a stronger voice, "This cannot be." 

"But it is," Qui-Gon answered softly. 

With one fluid movement, the Regent rolled from the bed and was on his feet, moving away, putting distance between them. Qui-Gon moved to rise, but Kenobi turned, stopping him with a look. "Stay where you are," he demanded, and Qui-Gon settled back. 

"It is not an accident, you and I together, in this place," Qui-Gon said, and his voice was like the touch of fine silk, raw and sensuous against the Regent's skin. "The Force has brought us together for some purpose." 

"The Force," Kenobi said scornfully, trying to ignore the inherent truth in the words spoken by the Jedi. "You came here to hide from the Sith. I had you captured for my own purposes. The Force does not speak to me." 

"Yet you use it, and you understand it..." 

Kenobi turned to face him, body a coiled mass of muscle, tense and tight. "That's no concern of yours," he said coldly, bending to the floor to pick up his clothes. "Your only concern is my pleasure. Get up." 

Qui-Gon got to his feet and reached for his own clothes, but Kenobi stopped him with a bruising grip on his wrist. "Kneel," he hissed, pushing the Jedi back a step. 

Qui-Gon went to his knees on the floor, facing the Regent, looking up at him. "Bow your head before me," the other man commanded, and Qui-Gon complied, hair falling forward across his face. "Nothing exists here but my will, Jedi, and your obedience. You have nothing of your own. You are nothing." 

He could feel the other man's hesitation, a strange mix of desire and disbelief mirroring his own. Chaotic impulses swirled in Obi-Wan's mind, courses of action, possibilities. He shoved them savagely to the back of his consciousness. 

Trousers, then tunic, and his body was concealed from view, but he found it more difficult to quash his emotions, to tuck them into places Jinn would not find them. 

"You feel it," Jinn said, and there was wonder in his voice. 

"I feel nothing but lust, and that has been satisfied," Kenobi answered, anger surging within him. He reached down, took hold of the Jedi's chin, yanked it up. "When you address me, you will use respect. I am your master." 

Qui-Gon's eyes rested on his, burning into him with a steady, knowing gaze. "Yes, master," he said, and although the tone was even, the words sounded like mockery, adding fuel to Kenobi's rage. Kenobi released him and stepped away. Qui-Gon spoke again, and his voice was filled with steel. "But I am not your slave...master." 

"Say what you like. You are my prisoner, and you will do as I command. You still have one option - agree to be my bodyguard, and I will release you from a life in the seraglio." Kenobi saw a tiny hint of indecision flicker through the other man's eyes. "I will not ask you again." 

"I would prefer a choice made without conditions," Jinn said slowly. "Because I have no freedom, my answer to you is meaningless." 

"Then you will remain here," Kenobi said, taking satisfaction in the dark thrill the words brought him. Jinn's face was impassive, but there was turmoil behind the mask of calm. "Beginning tomorrow, you will be instructed in the erotic arts. Learn what you need to know to be useful to me, or suffer the consequences." 

"Yes, my lord," Jinn said unexpectedly. Kenobi felt the power of that acquiescence deep in his body, and repressed a shiver. Such easy grace, and enormous power, surrendered a fragment at a time. 

The Regent had no intention of losing control again. 

******

 

Morning brought with it another round of debates and meetings for Obi-Wan. He found himself dreading the endless, mostly pointless discussions regarding the wisdom of resisting the Sith. He sat at the Council table, trying not to drum his fingers against the polished surface, and freed his mind to think of more pleasant things. 

Anakin sat beside him, solemn and attentive, and Obi-Wan watched him processing the information presented by his advisors, nodding gravely. The boy wasn't just putting on a show; he was keenly intelligent, and almost frighteningly aware of things the rest of them could only begin to see and sense. 

Obi-Wan had made progress in helping Anakin to see both sides of most issues. If he had even the most remote chance of making the boy into a fair and compassionate ruler of his world, he would have to conquer the restless edge of self-interest inside the child. 

"Obi-Wan?" the boy said suddenly, drawing the Regent back from his reverie. 

"Yes, Anakin?" 

"Is the Emperor wise to hunt and kill the Jedi?" the boy asked. 

Startled, Obi-Wan considered his answer. "Why do you ask?" he stalled, wishing he had been paying attention to the discussion. He could feel the eyes of every advisor at the table boring into his skull. 

"Ambassador Windu has said that the Jedi must die to bring order to the galaxy. Yet Chancellor Valorum disagrees. I sense that you disagree, too. Which is true?" the boy asked bluntly. 

"As with many things, there is no simple truth," the Regent said, choosing his words carefully. He caught and held Windu's eye until the man looked away, afraid. 

"But are the Jedi evil?" Anakin persisted, with the natural curiosity of a nine-year-old. 

"They are not. They seek to promote a balance in things, between light and darkness. Their views on many things are not unlike my own. You must learn to see both sides, Your Highness, and not bow to the opinions of others, even those you trust." Obi-Wan saw the frown cross the boy's face, and added, "It is not a simple thing to understand, but with time, you will learn to see this balance." 

"But what if you can't do what you are supposed to because the balance will be wrong?" Anakin pressed. 

"Then you must decide which is more important, your duty or the balance of things," Obi-Wan said. 

"My lord Regent," Minister Gallia said, in a tone of warning. "Perhaps he is too young to understand the fine distinction-" 

"I am not too young, and you will address me directly, Minister." Anakin's voice became sharp, and Obi-Wan felt something new in the Force - fear. The Ministers were afraid of the boy, of his power, of the knowledge he was accumulating. 

"My apologies, Highness." Gallia inclined her head to show her respect. 

"People often do things which are against the natural balance of order, because they have personal needs and beliefs," Valorum said, and Obi-Wan nodded his approval. "You will find this to be true, and must be wary of judging others, because things are rarely as clear as they first seem." 

"There is other business to discuss," Windu interjected, cutting off the lesson. "Word was received last night from one of our contacts. The Emperor has dispatched his personal advisors to inspect worlds on the fringes of the Empire. Taganor is likely to be a target." 

"Undoubtedly," Obi-Wan agreed, even as his mind launched into examination of the reasons for such activity. The Emperor was known to be growing more and more paranoid as his power increased. It would not do to have his representatives decide that Taganor should be ruled by someone other than Obi-Wan, someone who would teach Anakin to be controlled by his fear and hate. Having a Jedi in their midst would indeed be a problem. 

As if she read his thoughts, Gallia spoke up. "This brings us back to the Jedi, my lord. What will the Sith think if they discover -" 

"I have had enough of this." Obi-Wan rose and rounded the table, stopping between Windu and Gallia. "The Sith will know only what we tell them, what we show them. We have a new slave in our midst, a former Jedi, and he has been consigned to the harem. Tell them nothing beyond that, and there will be nothing to explain." He leaned forward, adding in a low voice, "Tell them too much, and you will answer to me." 

"Excellency, there is an incoming communication from Coruscant." Valorum caught his eye from across the table. "From the Emperor." 

Obi-Wan felt the sweeping thrill of apprehension that always accompanied such messages. He gave a brisk nod and moved into small circle where his image would be captured by the holoprojectors. Anakin came to stand beside him, and as the Emperor's image appeared, they knelt, heads bowed. 

"I have felt a disturbance in the Force, Kenobi. It would seem that your world is at the heart of it. Is there something you wish to explain?" The Emperor's gravely voice was soft, almost pleasant, but the underlying menace was palpable. 

"No, Master. There is no cause for concern." Obi-Wan blanketed his emotions with effort, pressing them down into what he hoped was a place the Emperor could not sense. 

"Perhaps that is all there is. Nevertheless, I am sending someone to Taganor to be my representative on that world. You will welcome him, Kenobi." 

"Yes, Master." 

The Emperor's image vanished, and a quick tremor went through small body next to Obi-Wan's. "He is sending a Sith Lord?" Anakin asked, turning concerned eyes to Obi-Wan. 

"It is nothing for you to fear. You will become a Lord of the Sith one day." Obi-Wan felt the wrongness of the words; they cramped inside his throat, clutching and pleading for retraction. He squeezed the boy's shoulder reassuringly. "Go on to your lessons, now." 

He watched Anakin trot toward the door, and as Valorum moved to follow, he exchanged a glance with his chancellor, who nodded his understanding. 

It was time to accelerate the boy's training. 

******

 

"No." Qui-Gon's voice was firm, his answer absolute. 

Ket'al sighed, and crossed his arms against his chest. "The Regent has ordered it, and you have no choice." 

"I have a choice," Qui-Gon answered determinedly. 

Daro rolled his eyes and came to stand beside Ket'al. "Do you want them to do dreadful things to me?" he demanded. 

"Of course not," Qui-Gon said immediately. "But there are other ways. You will tell me what I need to know, and Kenobi will never know the difference." 

"Oh yes, he will." Ket'al's voice was low and grim. "He will know immediately that you are lying. He can always tell, and he has sold slaves for it. I don't particularly wish to be sold simply because you are stubborn." 

"Besides, he decided on the lessons himself. He's seen the results of the training. Don't you think he'll figure out that you haven't been trained properly?" Daro said with exasperation. He tugged his tunic over his head and threw it to one side. "There's only one way to do this, Jedi." 

"I'm afraid he's right. And Daro will most certainly suffer for it if you aren't willing to learn." Ket'al shook his head. "It is not necessarily an unpleasant thing, Qui-Gon. Is there some other reason for your refusal? Are the Jedi celibate?" 

"No," Qui-Gon answered, trying not to notice that Daro had finished removing his clothing and was draped across the couch, listening intently. "It is accepted among the Jedi that commitment to the Order means forfeiture of a normal life, with marriage and children. But we are not required to be celibate. However...." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "We are not casual in our approach to pleasure. Most partners are long-term." 

"You will have to leave that life behind," Ket'al said quietly. He touched Qui-Gon's face with one hand, and his eyes reflected the grief in Qui-Gon's heart. "This is a different place, a different approach. You must let us teach you what you need to know. Please." 

For a moment more, the Jedi struggled with himself, until finally, he signaled his agreement with a mute incline of his head. 

"I can't believe I get to train the new favorite," Daro said, gloating a little. 

"I didn't want favored status," Qui-Gon said, fighting the urge to push Ket'al hands away as he was divested of his clothing. 

"But you have it," Ket'al said simply. "Don't protest against it too much. You may find it to be a desirable thing, after a while." 

Qui-Gon said nothing as Ket'al moved away, leaving him naked in the middle of the room. Expectantly, he looked over at the two men. "What happens now?" he asked, impatient to understand what would come next. 

Ket'al turned to him, and his appraising green gaze swept the length of Qui-Gon's body. "We have been instructed to start with the lesson of touch," he said slowly. "Certain things are universal, but we will teach you how best to please the Regent, and how to please anyone you may have occasion to touch..." 

"Because I may not always be here," Qui-Gon supplied, and Ket'al nodded. 

"You are a most perceptive man, Qui-Gon. Please, sit here." The blond gestured to the couch, and with some reluctance, Qui-Gon sat, reclining slowly. 

Fully clothed, Ket'al climbed onto the couch and straddled Qui-Gon's thighs, settling back on his own heels to keep his weight off the Jedi's knees. He placed his hands firmly on the broad chest beneath him, and stroked down, palms flat against Qui-Gon's smooth skin. The touch was feather-light, but firm, and as he brushed across the nipples, they rose in response. 

"Gentle, but strong," Ket'al said, as Daro watched intently. "Every time you touch him, let your fingers find their own path. Touch even the places you think are forbidden, and the places which are normally not touched." 

Ket'al lifted Qui-Gon's arms and placed them over his head, then ran his hands down the long arms, stopping to rub his thumbs across the sensitive skin beneath the armpit. Qui-Gon drew a hissing breath. "Yes," Ket'al said, voice suddenly husky. "You see how it can be." 

Two more hands joined the ones already on Qui-Gon's body, and as Daro's nimble fingers explored his lips, he caught the tip of one between his teeth, sucking it in. Daro reached down to toy with a nipple, scraping his fingernails lightly across the skin, producing a sharp intake of breath. 

Ket'al transferred his attention to Qui-Gon's erect shaft, caressing it with a combination of tantalizing short strokes and long, languid ones. It was only a matter of time before the incredible stimulus had its effect, and Qui-Gon gave a soft, disbelieving cry as he was taken just to the brink, then pulled back again with a different kind of touch. 

"I understand," he said softly, shuddering against the continued, relentless touches of the two men. 

"Not yet, you don't. We've only just started," Daro said, smiling down at Qui-Gon's stunned expression. 

******

 

Vault, somersault, land. As he always had, Obi-Wan relieved his tension and focused his mind through application of the Force, willing his body to follow his commands. It was second nature to him. When he was in tune with the power all around him, the solutions to his problems presented themselves without effort. 

He stretched his body, tumbling across the mat with incredible speed, a blur of motion flying about the room. He emptied his mind of the persistent vision of Qui-Gon's face, closed his senses to the remembered smell of sex and sweat, and the heat in his loins. Like a ribbon unfurling, his consciousness became smooth and straight, free of distractions. He was one with the Force, the way he had always dreamed it should be, the way his heart sang to him it would always be. 

But it could not be that way forever. 

With one last graceful, twisting leap, he landed on the practice mat and slowed his breathing. 

"I like the way you do that. Teach me how," demanded a voice from the side of the room. 

Obi-Wan turned his head and saw Anakin standing in the shadows, leaning against the wall. "In time, you will be able to do this as well as I can, or better," he said, motioning for the boy to come to him. 

For some time, he had considered how he might teach the boy without giving him too much, too soon. Anakin was bright and eager to learn, but there was a dark reserve of hurt and resentment within him. He had been ripped from his mother's arms when he was very small, taken by the Sith when they were alerted to his potential, and delivered into the care of men who cared nothing for the boy. Until Obi-Wan had made his connection to the boy a matter of record, there was no one to guide him, no one to give him affection. 

Even now, Obi-Wan sometimes wondered if that small bit of compassion he showed the boy had come too late. The depths of Anakin's heart were hidden from him, concealed by layers of childish emotions, and his defenses grew stronger every day. 

"Here," he said, dropping down on a bench and toweling off his sweat. Anakin obediently came to stand in front of him. "You have always known there was something special about your abilities, Anakin. And you've certainly been told that by courtiers often enough." He smiled at the boy, who grinned proudly in return. "Do you know why I was sent here, and why you have been given this world to rule?" 

"This world belongs to me because my family came from Tatooine." Anakin repeated what he knew, without drawing any new conclusions. "You are here to rule until I can take control of my own affairs." 

"The Sith have left this world alone because you are here. I have tried to use my position as your Regent to make sure that on Taganor, none are harmed by this war between the Sith and the Jedi," Obi-Wan explained, noting the flash of puzzlement in Anakin's eyes. "Do you understand?" 

"I think so." 

"It is time for you to learn what it is that makes you valuable to the Empire." He paused. "I will teach you how to harness and understand the Force. Do you think you're ready?" 

"Yes, Obi-Wan!" The boy's eyes shone with excitement. 

Obi-Wan smiled at him, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Good. Now. Close your eyes and concentrate on that feeling you get when you know something, but you aren't sure how you know." Obi-Wan waited until the boy was completely focused on the sensation. "Open yourself to that feeling, Anakin. Let it tell you what it needs from you." 

A long pause, and the tickling sensation of energy being redirected. Obi-Wan closed his own eyes, tracking the flow of the Force, letting it buffet the boy. He could sense Anakin's struggle to channel it, and his fear and dismay that he could not. 

"I feel it better when I'm angry," Anakin said, frustrated. 

Obi-Wan's heart dropped when he heard the words. "Never use the Force in anger, Anakin," he said gruffly. "You will lose control of yourself and you won't be able to do what you must." 

"That's not what Ambassador Windu says." Anakin's voice became bolder, less unsure. "He says anger is power. I've heard others say that, too." The blue eyes lit with something ferocious for a moment, but the spark died away as Obi-Wan frowned. 

"Anger is unpredictable, and it burns through the body too quickly. It has its place, but you will never be truly powerful if you rely on it to give you strength. Control of the Force comes from being calm and listening to the Force when it speaks to you." 

"I don't hear it saying anything," Anakin said, and a hot flush rose in his cheeks. "Maybe I'm different from you. Maybe I'm supposed to use my anger. How do you know I'm not?" 

"There are some things that are the same for everyone," Obi-Wan said, leaving the bench and dropping to one knee on the mat in front of Anakin. "I would not mislead you." 

"Maybe not on purpose." Waves of sudden suspicion cascaded out from the boy. "You did say you used your position here. Maybe you are using me, too." 

"What does the Force tell you?" Obi-Wan asked, leaning forward, balancing with one arm across his knee. 

Anakin's face contorted with the effort of his concentration, and he stared at Obi-Wan. "I don't know," he answered, lip quivering just a little. "I'm not sure." 

"Then perhaps we've done enough today, and tomorrow, you will have the answer to that question when I ask you again." Obi-Wan patted the boy's arm. "It takes time, Anakin. But the Force will lead you where you are meant to go, if you allow it. Go and find Valorum, and tell him what we discussed. Perhaps he can help you with your doubts." 

"All right, Obi-Wan." With a last troubled look at his teacher, the boy bolted from the room, leaving behind a churning wake of Force-energy. 

Obi-Wan stood and considered his position. The boy was already leaning toward Darkness. And after all, Obi-Wan had been sent to see the boy tapped into his full potential. It was so easy to forget that so much more was at stake. It had been so long, and sometimes, he felt weary down to the bone, ready to give himself over to a destiny he had tried to avoid. It was sometimes difficult to resist. 

It was certain that the arrival of the Jedi had thrown everything off kilter. Obi-Wan made a sudden decision, a decision that led him to the seraglio, past Jinn's quarters, past the deserted courtyard and the large wing that housed the Forgotten, those slaves he never summoned. 

The quarters he sought lay just beyond the entrance to the realm of the Forgotten, in a secluded corner of the seraglio. Many times, he had suggested that Xanatos move nearer to the entrance of the seraglio, as befitted his status. His favorite had declined the offer, preferring his privacy, far away from the prying eyes of others in the harem. 

He reached his destination and palmed open the lock. Wisps of steam wafted past as Obi-Wan entered the bath, standing still as the door closed, eyes adjusting to the low light as he searched for his objective. 

Xanatos was nude in the water, head thrown back against the tiled edge of the bathing pool, eyes closed, lips parted. Thick, dark locks of hair clung to his damp skin, and his arms made lazy circles in the water. The young slave opened his blue eyes and fixed them on Obi-Wan; there were shadows there, and a vulnerability that took away the Regent's breath in the moment before it was expertly masked. 

"I didn't expect you, Master," Xanatos said quietly, stilling the motion of his arms. "I thought you would be with your new favorite." There was a quiet undertone of hurt in the words. 

"I have only one favorite," Obi-Wan said, smiling a little at the light that seemed to burst from within Xan when he heard the words. His pulse jumped as Xan rose from the water and hoisted himself out of the pool without effort. Obi-Wan reached for him and found the wet, hard length of Xan's body pressed against him, undulating gently. 

His hands slid down the slick length of that body, and he cupped firm buttocks, pressing their twin erections together. He took Xan's mouth in a slow kiss, savoring the quick tongue that insistently flickered against his own. 

Obi-Wan was quickly stripped of his clothes and led into the steaming bath. Warm water covered him as he sank into the pool with Xan, and he wasted no time moving back into the circle of those welcoming arms. Soft sounds of water lapping against skin and tile accompanied the urgent sounds of passion. 

Obi-Wan tasted Xan's lips, his skin, the tiny sensitive spot on the side of his arched neck. His mouth was thorough, stopping when soft gasps told him he had found what he sought, lingering in those places as the scented water swirled around them with its own caress. 

Pushing against the heavy flow of the water, Obi-Wan reached below the surface, fingers slipping easily down the length of Xan's cock, relishing the shiver he produced. He caught a tender earlobe between his teeth, biting hard enough to draw a tiny drop of blood, as the shaft in his hand pulsed. "Are you ready for me?" he whispered, tongue tracing the delicate shell of the ear as he supported Xan's neck with his hand. 

"Yes, now," Xan begged, and a moan followed his plea. He turned his head and brought his lips back to Obi-Wan's greedy kiss, even as he was lifted in the water, and hands opened him, preparing the way. 

Obi-Wan exhaled a sigh of pure ecstasy as he sank into the tight channel, lowering Xan's body onto his cock slowly. Xan's ankles locked around his waist, and he tilted his body back into the water. Xan slid forward, impaling himself on the thick shaft, taking it as deep inside as it could go. 

Carefully, Obi-Wan thrust his hips forward, matching Xan's increasingly wild, rhythmic motions, watching the wanton display through passion-darkened eyes. His breathing quickened, and as Xan's muscles tightened around him, he thrust up, hard, locking himself inside that hidden place. His climax took him quickly, sweeping him away from the body pressed to his, away from conscious thought, into the place between desire and fulfillment. Vaguely, he heard Xan cry out as well. 

With shaking arms, he lowered Xan into the water, pressing his face to the curve of his neck, holding him for a moment as the shuddering passed through them both. 

"You need have no fear of being displaced, Xan," he said softly, sweeping back the hair which clung to the other man's face, obscuring his eyes. "Jinn cannot match your passion." 

"What?" As though he had been burned by the words, Xanatos twisted in his arms, eyes hooded, body tense. 

Obi-Wan soothed him with a kiss. "The Jedi is not important," he murmured, lulled into a peaceful state of bliss by orgasm and warmth. He settled back against the wall of the pool, holding Xan in the circle of his arms. After a long moment, Xan relaxed against him, but his heartbeat thudded against Obi-Wan's chest, and did not slow. 

 

In the silence of the seraglio at night, it was possible to move about unseen through deserted halls. It was even possible to sneak inside the quarters of the others in the harem, if one was patient, and had the codes. Qui-Gon Jinn's door slid open, and closed, and no one was nearby to see or hear the intrusion. 

Qui-Gon lay stretched across the bed on his stomach, legs wrapped loosely in the sheets, one knee drawn up toward his belly. He shifted sleepily, catching his pillow and pawing it up underneath his face. 

From the restless shadows, a slender figure emerged, taking hesitant steps toward the bed, stopping as he reached the edge. One hand rose and stilled in mid-air, trembling with indecision. Slowly, he withdrew his hand. 

The uninvited visitor lifted his fingers to his face and traced the scar on his pale cheek. His touch lingered there for a moment. His fingertips feathered absently across his parted lips as he whispered one word, reverently, feverishly. 

"Master..."


	4. Center of Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon has an encounter with someone from his past, and the heir is in danger. Many emotions are revealed.

Ash floated in the twisting hot wind, fluttering down across rubble and steaming ruins. Under a burning sky, with cloth tied across his face to protect him from the choked air, a solitary man moved purposefully, stopping and searching every few paces. He reached out with the Force, looking for those still alive, pulling bodies from the twisted wreckage of the Temple. 

Scattered blaster fire and screams of agony pierced the place that had once been a haven of serenity. He knew he could not remain much longer. Capture would mean torture, and slow extraction of information about the last strongholds of his kind. He could not allow that to happen. Still, something held him to the massive pile of melted metal and transparisteel, and he felt his stomach lurch as he called for his padawan. The lack of response tore his heart, but he shoved his despair aside and continued on, searching until his hands bled and his eyes stung with smoke.... 

With a start, Qui-Gon woke from the recurring nightmare. He wiped a hand over the cooling sweat on his face, sighing out a long breath of sadness. Even after time had separated him from the scene of so much anguish, the images were clear in his mind, and the grief was raw. He could still feel the boy's bright, intense presence, like a tiny spark imbedded within his subconscious. It was that way often, but this time, something was different -- the sense of nearness did not fade as the dream became shadow. With sudden awareness, he realized he was not alone in the room. 

Qui-Gon rolled fluidly to his side and vaulted from the bed, automatically reaching out with the Force for his saber. Too late, he remembered it was gone, and instinctively he launched himself in the direction of the shape near his bed. Hard contact was made between bodies as he knocked the intruder to the ground, wrestling him into a prone position. The man beneath him went limp, complying with the unspoken demand that he yield, and Qui-Gon turned him roughly. 

Wide blue eyes gleamed in the low light, shining with moisture, and the faint outline of a circular scar was visible. The jumbled visual cues snapped together with stunning clarity in Qui-Gon's mind, and the Force locked them together with the distinct and memorable Force signature of a training bond. 

With a gasp, Qui-Gon reached down and pulled the young man roughly to his feet, needing to see, to be sure of what he already knew. The handsome features solidified as he drew his former apprentice into the light, and he stopped breathing for a moment, as time stopped, and he was plunged back into his nightmare, into the past, into what could never be again. 

"Xanatos," he said, joy shaping the tone of the word, and the young man bowed his head at the sound of his name. A sudden sob wracked Xan, silently heaving through his body, and he shook under Qui-Gon's hands. 

"Master," his former apprentice said, as Qui-Gon enfolded him in a tight, fierce embrace. Slowly, arms rose, wrapped themselves around the body of the Jedi Master, and they remained still in the comfort of each other for a long moment. 

"I believed you to be dead," Qui-Gon said, releasing the pain of his belief with the utterance of it. "I searched for you in the ruins of the Temple...I called for you, but there was nothing, and I could not stay. I could not stay...." The echo was fraught with deeply held anguish, and the voice trembled. 

Xanatos pulled back from Qui-Gon to look at him, and for the first time, Qui-Gon saw the changes wrought in the years since the destruction of the Temple. No longer a boy on the cusp of becoming a man, Xanatos had matured. He had become a graceful presence with intelligent eyes and an aura of quiet strength and sensuality. 

"I knew you would search for me," Xan said, voice unsteady. His hands tightened on Qui-Gon's arms as he stood, pulling Qui-Gon up with him. "I escaped into the streets of Coruscant, for a time, but I couldn't stay hidden down there forever. The Sith were everywhere...and I was injured too badly to make a stand. I knew of no safe place, nowhere to hide, no refuge." Horror flashed quickly through the blue eyes, deflected roughly into the Force, unfocused. 

Qui-Gon absorbed the pain of memory, and detached his own emotions as they threatened to overwhelm him. One question rose to the surface, pushing aside so many others. "How did you come to be here?" he asked as he moved away to touch the light panel. The room was flooded with illumination, and the answer to his query was revealed in a flash of metal - a highly stylized slave bracelet, gold and green twined together, curling around the rounded bicep of Xan's left upper arm. He raised startled eyes, and the sadness in Xan's face mirrored his own. 

"I was captured by Sith troops and interrogated, but I was only a student and not worth their time. They could have killed me, but there was profit to be made from the sale of such handsome merchandise." There was a soft kind of bitterness behind Xan's words, and something else Qui-Gon couldn't put his finger on. "After some time on a slaver ship, I was bartered to the seraglio master who works for the Regent and brought to Taganor. I was fortunate to find favor with my master...." 

The last word sounded strange, out of context, and totally wrong to Qui-Gon. He sighed. "You have accepted this life as a slave?" he asked, surprise and a hint of disapproval coloring his tone. 

Xanatos' expression changed subtly, and he answered, "I have accepted what is. There's no point in dwelling on what might have been. My life as a Jedi wasn't meant to be. The Force dictated another path for my life. There is no escape from this, not for me." 

Qui-Gon flinched at the implication. A deep feeling of bitterness and loss washed through him, as he contemplated the life Xanatos had missed, the things he had never done and would never do because he lived in servitude. 

Xanatos stepped closer, and Qui-Gon knew enough remained of their bond for the younger man to sense his unease and regret. "Release your guilt for me, Master. My life is not unhappy, and I have found a kind of peace here." 

"Peace in slavery is a contradiction in terms." Said more harshly than intended, the words contained an undertone of judgment. "Have you never contemplated escape?" 

"An opportunity never arose." Xanatos swallowed, extending the pause, and continued, "It was some time before I was able to use the Force again, and if I failed in the attempt, I would be killed. I found...that my life was the only possession of importance to me, and I wasn't ready to die." 

Qui-Gon nodded with heavy understanding. Alone, with no one to guide or advise him, his apprentice had succumbed to his fear. It was easy for the young ones to forget the abstract concept of life within the Force after the physical body died. He waited for his one-time student to continue. 

"I have found contentment in this place." Xanatos moved closer and pressed a hand to his former master's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "The Regent is not an unreasonable man, and he has some importance to me." 

Qui-Gon looked into the shockingly blue eyes, probing without subtlety into the remnants of their bond, and found himself rebuffed. "Importance?" he asked out loud, challenging Xanatos to define his explanation. 

Xanatos met his eyes steadily, without speaking, and the moment where Qui-Gon might have demanded details passed quietly. Instead, the tables were quickly turned. 

"I have heard it said in the seraglio, among those whose duty it has been to train you, that the Jedi learns his lessons well." It was a statement, but the hint of interrogation lingered underneath. "I would have thought your primary concern would be to escape, to rejoin your comrades. If any have survived," he added casually, blue gaze piercing through to Qui-Gon's heart. "Are there any other Jedi alive?" 

Qui-Gon hesitated, and chose his words carefully. It had, after all, been many years, and there was no way to know why the question was asked. "Some live, yes. But they have scattered, and the Order is no longer organized. We do what we must to survive." 

A smile twisted Xanatos' mouth, shocking in its brilliance and bitterness. "So true." 

Tension sparkled between them suddenly, fueled by secrecy. It faded into the awkward distance of men who have fallen away from common ground, and were unsure of the way home. 

"Were you...mistreated?" Qui-Gon asked suddenly, breaking the moment. Far easier to ask about the past, than to confront the present. 

Xanatos swallowed, and his jaw hardened. He turned away slightly, tensing as he spoke. "I was not mistreated. Much. But I was not allowed to make any choices. In the beginning, that was hardest to accept." 

Qui-Gon reached out again with the Force, sensing vulnerability, and understood with complete certainty that Xanatos was concealing something from him, something so crucial that he was throwing all his skill with the Force into keeping it locked away. Qui-Gon considered his options; he decided to follow his instincts, and let it go without questioning the younger man. Those same instincts tickled at his better judgment, telling him to refrain from giving Xan any information that could later prove fatal to the few Jedi still living. 

He lifted his hand and ran a finger around the edges of the jagged circle on Xan's cheek, tracing it with wistful care. "You still bear this," he observed, dropping his hand. "Why did your master not have it removed, to preserve your beauty?" 

"I wouldn't allow it, and eventually, they stopped trying to persuade me." Proudly, Xan lifted his head. "It was the turning point of my life. I wear it to remind me...of all that is lost." 

Vividly, Qui-Gon recalled how Xanatos had created the scar on his own face. Qui-Gon had been sent to deal with Xan's father, an evil man bent on destroying millions of lives by his alliance with the Sith. Xanatos had been forced to choose, and he had made his decision, standing neutral as Qui-Gon took his father's life. Qui-Gon's blade cut cleanly through the ring Xan's father always wore when he struck the killing blow, and his apprentice had picked up the white-hot metal, pressing it to his face. The boy had fallen to his knees, screaming his grief and outrage as he marked himself forever as a Jedi, devoted to the Light. 

"I will not forget that moment," Qui-Gon answered, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he remembered his padawan crumpled in his arms, wounded and weeping with despair. 

"I have made it my business to remember." Xanatos' body quivered suddenly, and he leaned forward, as though ready to launch himself into the circle of Qui-Gon's arms. Like a sudden storm, the impulse passed, and he turned away again. "I can't linger here, Master. If I'm found in these quarters after the night chimes sound, you will be punished, and I will incur the Regent's wrath. Not a desirable situation." 

"His good graces are important to you, then?" Qui-Gon asked, surprised at himself for asking, even more surprised at the flare of jealousy that tingled across his heart as he waited for the answer. It was irrational, completely contrary to everything he had come to believe of himself...but it was there nonetheless. 

"Yes," Xanatos answered, and there was a deep note of longing in the words, an infusion of emotion Qui-Gon had not wished to hear. The younger man reached out, leaned against the cold metal of the door, fingers splayed. "I will come again, to talk of what is, and what was, if you would not mind." 

"To know that you live gives me great joy, Padawan." Such a simple title, and yet Xanatos straightened noticeably. 

Xanatos turned his face slightly, so only the scarred cheek and the corner of a blue eye were visible. "And I am pleased to know you have survived, Master. I only hope there can be a way for us both to find survival here." Without elaborating, he left, leaving Qui-Gon staring at the closed doors. 

Alive...it was impossible, but true. He should have known, should have felt it or sensed it. So many years had passed by, and he had never searched the depths of Coruscant, never scoured the ship's logs of pirates and slavers, never once questioned his own belief that Xanatos was lost to him. It had been more convenient, in the course of saving his own hide, to convince himself that no one could have survived. 

Yet many had. And he had known that, had helped to heal the wounded, had touched their minds, felt their agony and seen the last moments of the Jedi Order in its vanishing grandeur. He had known. It was rationalization to say otherwise. Part of him shied from examination of his motives, remembering Xan's plea to release his guilt. 

But it was his fault. All of it. Years of captivity, any abuses the boy had suffered, Xan's calm acceptance of his place as a slave - his fault. And now they were trapped together at the whim of a man Qui-Gon did not know, with an unwanted bond in place, stronger than anything he had ever felt. Deep inside, he felt the truth of it. 

Xanatos would be an obstacle to a goal he never wanted to pursue to begin with. 

A question played through his mind, over and over, until he felt the edges of it becoming blurred. This jealousy...was it for the padawan enslaved to another, or for the man who held his apprentice in thrall? He could not tell. 

Qui-Gon sank slowly to the ground, numbed by new knowledge and new questions. Arms curled around knees, he sat, motionless, as faint sunlight climbed across the sill of the tall windows, banishing gloom by degrees. 

In his heart, cold darkness remained. 

**********

 

There were a number of images floating through the Regent's mind, all darkly deviant and wrapped in the purest kind of fantasy - the kind that needs only a summons and a command to make it real. It was satisfying to know his needs could be met on a whim, and also disquieting. 

He leaned back in his chair, contemplating the mysteries of attraction and need, puzzled by the primal instinct that had drawn him to Jinn. He felt ruled by it, owned in a way he had never expected. The pull was stronger than anything he had ever experienced. 

"Watch me, Obi-Wan!" Anakin's shout broke his reverie. With tired eyes, he watched the young heir vaulting around the mat, perfecting the first exercise he'd ever learned, whirling a stick the approximate size of a lightsaber. Soon enough, he would hold a stick of light in his hand. The thought of what he would do with it, and in whose service it would be done, deadened Obi-Wan's heart a bit more, tearing it around the periphery, where truth lurked. 

"Very good, Ani," he called, picking up an object with the Force and hurling it almost idly toward his charge. The small bucket clattered into the stick as Anakin deflected it almost effortlessly. Obi-Wan felt his eyebrow climbing. It was an impressively intuitive move for one so young and comparatively untrained. 

There would be no limit to his power when he was a grown man, with benefit of the best instructors the Sith could offer. 

Anakin laughed, and mischief danced in his eyes. With a smile, Obi-Wan turned his full attention to the solo exercise, sending more and more small objects into the path of the nimble stick. The training area filled with clacking and banging as each was neatly smashed aside. 

"You have progressed quickly, Anakin!" Obi-Wan voiced his approval, even as he probed with the Force. The delight and pride of the boy were obvious, and he felt no anger or fear. With relief, he went to Anakin and toweled him down, ruffling his hair as he did so. 

"What will we learn tomorrow?" Anakin asked, and the light of anticipation brightened his angelic face. 

"I think perhaps we will begin some focusing exercises tomorrow." 

"Meditation?" A small pout appeared. "But that's so...boring." 

"Ah, but you want to use your abilities in an effective way, don't you?" Obi-Wan hooked a finger underneath the small chin and tilted it up. "And that is what I'm here to teach you. You must trust me, Anakin. I will show you all you need to become a great leader." 

Anakin looked soberly at him, and a strange pulse of Darkness touched the corners of Obi-Wan's awareness, vanishing almost immediately. "I have thought about the question you asked me yesterday," he said, in a tone much like a challenge. "About what the Force tells me about you." 

"And what have you decided?" 

The boy's eyes narrowed, and Obi-Wan felt uncomfortably like a germ under examination. "I don't think you're here to hurt me. But I'm not sure you're here to help me, either. You feel...in between." A frustrated note dotted the terse words. "Hard to understand." 

"Hard to understand, it is." A small, private smile ghosted across Obi-Wan's face. "But in time, you will see things quite clearly. And these exercises will help you do just that. Now go and shower. You have tutelage in diplomacy scheduled with Ambassador Windu this afternoon." 

"Yes, Obi-Wan." 

Obi-Wan watched him go, recognizing that his days were taking on a distinct sameness with the addition of these training sessions. The previous day's interlude with his favorite had been a welcome distraction, and he found great solace in those arms, but it was not enough. 

He'd made certain Jinn would be trained in the arts of pleasure, and had sworn not to touch the man until it was done. He couldn't afford the immersion in the Force, and the display of his truest feelings, not when so many things were at stake. Exposure was his one fear, now, and it would come soon enough. The time had to be right. Jinn could not know. All his work would be undermined. He had to be in control, and until Jinn learned to surrender his lingering dominance, it could never be. 

Visions of the tall, strong body beneath him, hips thrust up, knees spread apart, face turned to the side, took the breath from his lungs. With monumental control, he banished it. 

Soon enough, he would be able to take Jinn as he wished, and there would be no resistance. No threats would be required. And he would be master, without question or threat. 

**

"Stop fighting me," Daro said petulantly, smoothing his hands over the tensed muscles of Qui-Gon's torso. "And listen. How are you ever going to learn if you don't listen?" 

"I can feel." The words were uttered between gritted teeth and gasps. Daro's hands were drawing Qui-Gon into a place he had spent his entire life avoiding, a place where his body was the focal point of his existence, where pleasure was the shining center of every moment. 

Another day, another lesson, but this time, Daro had brought Mathius and Leyran, the handsome twins. They allowed Qui-Gon to undress himself, while Daro clucked about the necessity of Qui-Gon learning a few finer points of disrobing in an attractive fashion, and went through a litany of things Qui-Gon had yet to learn. He supposed that if there were time, he would become the most skilled pleasure slave in the galaxy under such proficient tutelage. The thought brought him a mixture of disgust and fascination, and he pushed the feelings aside, trying to focus on what was required of him. 

Daro's arms wrapped around him as he reclined against the slender body, drawn back against its deceptive strength. Massage had eased tension from Qui-Gon's muscles, and he found himself naked and spread across the bed before he had time to protest. Pillowed against Daro's stomach, he was comfortable against the supple flesh beneath his own. As Leyran and Mathius settled at his feet on the bed, he caught his breath. Daro's hands stopped their tantalizing motion across his skin. 

Lips settled next to his ear as he watched Leyran prowling up his nude form, laying kisses to the hollow behind his left knee, the soft skin at the juncture of his thigh. Dark eyes smiled up at him, enjoying the power of seduction they had long practiced and perfected. 

"Now watch, Qui-Gon Jinn," Daro whispered, tongue flickering around the sensitive ridge of the Jedi's outer ear, dipping to the skin just below and tickling his neck. "Watch, and learn. See how his eyes never leave yours, how his desire is exposed for you." 

Qui-Gon found he could not draw his gaze away from the liquid heat in Leyran's dark eyes, eyes which dared him to break away. Leyran touched his thighs, nudging them apart, spreading Qui-Gon wide to his appreciative stare. Daro made a small lascivious sound of approval as Leyran settled his muscular body between those open thighs, arching his back as he dropped his head down to Qui-Gon's belly. 

"See how his lips make a map of your body, Jinn? How your skin knows where his mouth will touch you, and jumps to meet his kisses?" 

It was true; the surface of his skin was like molten ivory, sliding into every contact with Leyran's body, meeting fire with equal heat. Daro's words seemed to burn into his consciousness. "Your body is tight with the thought of his mouth on you, making you come, isn't it? That is the feeling you must give the Regent. This feeling." 

Every phrase was punctuated by an action -- a sweep of tongue across the crown of his cock, a thumb pressed against the base of his shaft, fingers cupping his balls and rolling them gently. 

Mathius eased down beside him, an arm carelessly thrown across his stomach, and with a wink, fastened his teeth around a brown nipple, sucking gently. 

"This is the way to mark your territory," Daro instructed. "The marks of a good bedmate are invisible, but they last long after the act is completed. If you've marked him well, and made him notice you, he will think of you when his body tells him it's time to satisfy his lust. Find his rhythm..." 

Slow suction, a persistent pattern of teeth and tongue, and his nipples were hard and connected directly with his cock. Spasms of mingled pain and pleasure shivered through him, ending in the bundle of nerves between his legs, just where Leyran's fingers were touching him with firm possessiveness. 

"He requires something of you, and you must find the moment, that second where ecstasy threatens to become pain." The soft voice deepened. "You'll take that pain away, and turn it into rapture, won't you? Just like this...." 

The slow glide of a wet mouth over his cock illustrated that rapture, and Qui-Gon fought back a scream as he watched the full lips enclosing his shaft, watched it disappear into the willing mouth of his teacher, felt the tissue at the back of the other man's throat give way as he relaxed to admit as much of Qui-Gon's flesh as possible. Swallowed to the root, Qui-Gon panted shallow breaths and stilled the frantic thrusting of his hips, trying to hold back his orgasm. 

"See how he takes all of you? You will learn that, in time. And you will make him surrender to you...it is a simple thing. As you must surrender control to us." 

The twins exchanged a look with Daro, and Mathius smiled, turning his attention back to the second, neglected nipple. He licked at it, and bit down suddenly, sharply, sucking it back between his teeth as Qui-Gon bucked up once, twice into Leyran's mouth, spilling his seed there, moaning with helpless abandon. Dimly, over the roaring in his ears, he heard Daro's soft voice. "Never forget that words carry power, Jinn. Your voice was made to stir a man to lust. Use it well." 

Leyran was over him then, body to body, writhing against him, and a hard cock pressed against his belly as his tormentor kissed him. His mouth opened to accept a gentle tongue, sharing the taste of his passion with him. 

"Your turn," Leyran said, grinning. "Let's see how well you've learned." 

**********

 

"You have made great progress in your studies, Your Highness. I am most impressed." There was a depth of sincerity in Windu's words that was often lacking, and Obi-Wan hid a wry smile. 

"I've been studying, Ambassador. I have to know how to run my world. You have been very helpful." Anakin's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, and Windu returned the smile. 

"Excellent, Anakin. You raised issues the Ambassador would do well to consider before our visitors arrive." With a pointed look at Windu, the Regent patted Anakin's shoulder. "Now. Tell me about the Imperial power structure, and the localization of authority. What have you learned?" 

"The Emperor appoints his most trusted advisors to positions of authority. He has made certain that his interests are protected..." Anakin droned on, and Obi-Wan's attention wandered away from the memorized information. 

Flashes of insight winked at him, too brief to be considered real information. He closed his eyes, raising his head slowly and listening with more than just his physical senses. The impression returned, faded, returned twice as strongly. Something vague, elusive...something deadly. He reached for it, jaw setting in a determined line. 

"Majesty?" Windu noticed the sudden change in the Regent's demeanor and stood, pulling the boy up with him. "What is it?" 

"Get him out of here!" The command was less than a shout, more than an urgent request. Windu turned and was moving in an instant, Anakin in tow, but it was too late. 

The doorway was shadowed by a hooded figure, clad in black from head to toe, face obscured by a hood drawn down. Two red saber-stars glowed against the glove that held them. 

In a blur of motion faster than the naked eye could track, Obi-Wan was vaulting across the conference table, placing himself between Anakin and the assassin. The first of the saber-stars was hurtling across the room at the same speed as Obi-Wan, and they collided in front of Anakin. Obi-Wan made no sound as the weapon sliced through his side, through skin, muscle, tissue and cloth, exiting the opposite side of his body. 

"Obi-Wan!" Anakin screamed, as waves of pain and anger dissipated into the Force, released by the Regent. He made a move toward his guardian, but was forcibly restrained by Windu, who dragged him inexorably toward the rear entrance of the room. 

"Move, Ani!" Obi-Wan sprang into a crouch in front of the boy as the child retreated. 

Black swirls of motion called Obi-Wan's attention as the assassin dodged ahead, letting the second saber-star fly. Obi-Wan extended his hand and called on the Force, and the second weapon bounced harmlessly away, stopped a mere inch from Anakin's heart. 

The assassin hissed his displeasure and slipped from the room, moving at incredible speed. Obi-Wan started to follow the dark figure, but his body refused to obey. Incredulously, he looked down at the dark blood staining his tunic at the top of his trousers. He pressed a hand to the wound and pitched forward, helpless to control the sudden onslaught of pain, feeling his life bleed away. There was a noise, and he dimly recognized it as Anakin's voice, pleading, sobbing, but he was beyond capacity to care. Slowly, he sank into the whirlpool of nothingness, one drop of blood at a time. 

**********

 

"It was fortunate he was present; otherwise, Anakin would be dead." The voice was calm, but strained. 

"We can't even be sure Anakin was the target, you fool!" Windu's voice, thick with panic. "We'd be better off if he had died." 

"Silence!" Valorum again, and his tone cut through the fog surrounding Obi-Wan. "The Regent lives. You would be wise to consider your words carefully." 

"I'm through being careful." There was a sound of doors opening and closing, and the feel of a weight sagging the bed beside him. Obi-Wan groaned softly, and was immediately reassured by a firm hand on his wrist. 

"Obi-Wan. Open your eyes." Persuasive as always, Valorum's soothing tones drew him into the present, anchored him to his body, which was a mass of painful impulses, jumbled and seared. 

"Where...Anakin," he gasped, amazed at his own weakness. 

"Safe," Valorum answered. "Under guard. As are you." 

"How bad?" 

"Damaged tissue, muscle. You nearly bled to death. Very efficient weapons, those saber-stars. Would have killed either of you instantly, if they had gone through a vital organ. You were both quite lucky." 

"Skill," Obi-Wan said, aware of the dry cracking of his voice as he spoke. "Practice." He was gratified by the hint of amusement in Valorum's eyes. "Who is guarding Ani?" 

"Maul. He has studied the use of weapons favored by Jedi assassins." 

"Not...Jedi," croaked Obi-Wan. "Rogue. Or Sith." 

Valorum's face betrayed his shock. "Are you certain?" 

Obi-Wan gave a quick, affirmative nod. "Must take extra precautions. Special plans. You know where...to find them." 

"I'll take care of it." Valorum squeezed his wrist, signifying his understanding. "You must rest." 

Noise erupted in the hallway, causing both men to turn their heads toward the disturbance. "Let me pass!" A male voice raged coldly at the guard, issuing a stream of invectives in ten dead languages. 

"Let him in," Obi-Wan ordered, and Valorum rose smoothly from the bedside to wave off the guards. 

A moment later, Xanatos was inside the room, running. He knelt by the side of the bed, wrapping his long fingers around Obi-Wan's forearm, laying his head against the Regent's hand. 

"You are alive," he whispered. "The servants said you were dead, murdered as you protected Anakin, but I knew it wasn't true, knew you must be alive." The words tumbled out, formless, anxious, relieved. "Obi-Wan, oh, Master..." The last word was not speech, but emotion, pure and unafraid. 

"Come here," Obi-Wan rasped. 

Xanatos looked up, saw what was needed, and climbed into the bed, taking Obi-Wan in his arms, pressing the injured man carefully against him. Neither man spoke as Xanatos buried his face against Obi-Wan's bare shoulder, listening to the soft breathing of the younger man as it evened out. 

In his sleep, Obi-Wan dreamed of heat, and the sweet caress of the Force, healing him. Vague memories swirled around him, bound up in the indistinct landscape of dreams. He barely felt the hands against his side, and never heard the soft words spoken against his shoulder, as energy flowed through and around him in the mist of sleep. 

**********

 

"You were careless. It was a disaster." 

"It will not happen again. I will do what must be done." 

"If you fail again, I'll have you killed. It won't be hard to find treason where it already exists." 

"You needn't threaten me. My loyalty is where it should be. I've never given cause for doubt." 

"Haven't you? I wonder." 

"When shall I strike next?" 

"When he is most vulnerable. I warn you...be quick and thorough." 

"Yes, my master."


	5. Powers Seen and Unseen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan receives a gift from an unexpected source. The political situation becomes more complicated. Qui-Gon's anger grows.

Endless agony rippled through Qui-Gon Jinn unabated. Like a flaying knife, pain cut away his resistance, leaving him wide open and gasping for breath. It had been that way since the first surge of fire crashed into his mind. Every sense Qui-Gon Jinn possessed was focused on the Regent. 

The torment of it had driven him instinctively to his door, into the corridor, down the hallways with a purpose he could not comprehend. He needed to find Kenobi, had to be with him, to give and heal until he was dead himself from the effort if need be. Had he stopped to think, he would have considered himself more than slightly insane, but the single-minded drive refused to be denied. He raged, and tore, and fought the guards until he was overpowered by sheer numbers. 

A Force-dampening field had been erected around his quarters, keeping him confined. He sat by the door for hours, feeling every shiver of pain creeping through Kenobi, waiting feverishly as each ripple passed over him and out into the continuous circle of energy that was the Force. Even without the Force to guide him, the raw pain found him through his strange bond with the Regent, barely filtered by the dampeners meant to keep him in his place. 

He could offer no comfort. To himself, or to the man he was enslaved to, in both mind and body. 

**********

 

Sunlight trickled across the bedcovers, lighting the world outside Obi-Wan's closed eyes. He chose not to move for a moment, letting the light spread its warmth and vibrancy around his body as the fog of sleep lifted. In the quiet darkness, he catalogued his circumstances. 

The injury to his side was throbbing lightly, but the worst of the pain had passed. He stretched cautiously, testing his theory, and sighed with relief when his muscles declined to react with agony. He had expected to spend the day in a meditation trance, focused on healing the torn flesh, but... 

A flash of memory occurred to him, of gentle hands and the Force flowing through him. Jinn, he thought immediately, with an odd surge of gratitude. After a moment, he dismissed the notion. Valorum would not have allowed the Jedi into his quarters under any circumstances until he was certain it was safe. There were no Force-adept healers on Taganor, and though the Council of Advisors was rife with Force-adepts, none of them would have been permitted to touch him. 

Only one option remained. 

Obi-Wan ran his fingertips down the length of the arm encircling his chest, grasping it lightly at the wrist. Carefully, he turned in the circle of those arms, shifting back slightly to look at the face of his favorite, still flushed and calm in sleep. Unruly black hair had straggled across his closed eyes, and Obi-Wan lifted a hand to brush it away, a sweep of ebony silk against golden skin. 

It could not be. Xanatos had been a slave for quite some time before was acquired for the harem. He had been in the seraglio for many cycles. It wasn't possible. It was... 

It was the only answer. 

Of course, he'd always sensed the hum of energy just beneath the surface in Xan, had used it to amplify their mutual pleasure during sex, but he'd never imagined that Xan understood the Force, that he could call upon it and turn it to his bidding. His favorite had been keeping secrets of self-preservation. Obi-Wan found he was impressed, and curious. And touched. His slave had revealed much, risked much, to save his life. 

Kenobi studied the other man's peaceful visage while mulling over the implications. He'd never asked Xanatos much of anything about his past; his slave had deferred specific questions. Only once had Obi-Wan pressed the point, asking if Xan would like the scar on his cheek healed. Xan's negative reaction had been so vehement that his master never asked again. Obi-Wan had allowed the man to preserve the veil over his memories, since thoughts of a former life could sometimes cause great pain. He was in a unique position to know that feeling quite intimately. 

So where had Xanatos learned his skill with the Force? And how far did it extend? Obi-Wan's flattened palm crept beneath Xan's tunic and touched bare, warm skin, drawing broad, soothing circles there. If he asked too many questions, and Xan declined to answer, he would be forced to choose - ignore, or punish. 

Ignore, and all control would be lost. Obi-Wan wondered if loss of control would be such a terrible thing. For Xan, he had often lowered his guard to the point of vulnerability. Perhaps it had been unwise, but the Force had never shown him any danger inherent in that small bit of trust. Still, he was the master, and Xan was a slave. Some things were fixed constants, and their roles could not be undone. 

Yet, he knew he could not pretend to be ignorant of the plain truth of things. Xan wasn't a fool, and he would not expect Kenobi to be foolish. Complicated, indeed, and further woven with intrigue because the handsome man in his bed loved him. And because his own conflicted feelings were tied up in duty, status, authority, and the unexpected entry of the Jedi into his already twisted emotions. 

He looked at Xan's face, and darker thoughts invaded, bringing the Regent to the fore and pushing back desire. 

After all, he had not thought to ask Xan's whereabouts at the time of the attack on Anakin. It was plausible that his slave was anything but what he appeared. Possible, in fact, that his ability with the Force gave him the necessary skill to kill as well as heal. 

Resolutely, he ignored the twinge of hurt he experienced at the thought of such betrayal. All possibilities must be examined, all roads traveled. Even so, there were some things he found he did not want to believe too easily. 

Wincing at the pressure on his side, Obi-Wan shifted again, bringing his body closer to Xan's, leaving a whisper of a kiss on those soft lips. He closed his eyes, feeling the soft, even puffs of breath against his face, and drew a line of kisses across Xan's cheek, closing his lips tenderly around the scar, against the fine skin beneath the dark lashes. His tongue flickered out, darting quickly across the lower lip before he captured that mouth, pressing just enough to part Xan's lips beneath him. 

A soft sigh, and Xan's eyes opened, sultry with lingering dreams, narrowing just a bit as he submitted to the Regent's scrutiny. "Good morning, my master," he breathed, as his upper lip was savored and teased by Obi-Wan's possessive mouth. 

"The wound is nearly healed," Obi-Wan said quietly, watching the blue of Xan's eyes become midnight, full of secrets. Xan looked away, but Obi-Wan raised his chin, plundering his mouth, deepening his exploration of the sweet warmth within. 

When he was through, Xan's eyes shone again, but the troubled darkness lurked in the corners. They gazed at one another for a long moment. 

"Aren't you going to ask?" Xan said, softly, communicating his longing, his acceptance, with a quick touch over Obi-Wan's heart. 

Until that moment, Obi-Wan hadn't known for certain if that question had an answer, and when he realized it did, the question no longer mattered at all. 

"No," he said, before claiming another kiss, pairing the sensation of it with the texture of supple muscle beneath his roving hands. He lost himself in the pleasure and the warmth, and pushed the rest of it from his mind, into places he could find it when the time was right. 

**********

 

Daybreak brought no relief for Valorum, who paced the anteroom of the Regent's chambers, unable to stop the cycle of worry that had begun in his clever mind. If Kenobi were killed, there would be nothing to stop the Sith from taking control, nothing to save the hundreds of slaves from being taken and used up like replaceable commodities. Nothing to prevent the heir from turning dark and cold, and annihilating the known universe. 

He glanced toward the closed entrance, wondering if Kenobi were awake. There would be a summoning, and questions to answer, once he was fully recovered. And the Sith would be arriving too quickly for Valorum's taste. If there were a way to speed the healing, he would have to encourage it. 

Impatient, he crossed to the comlink and triggered it. A deep, sinuous voice answered. "Yes, Chancellor?" 

"Where are the men I selected, Maul?" 

"They will arrive shortly, Chancellor. They were quite...pleased...to be called to do their duty." There was a hint of amusement in Maul's voice, that same arrogant false benevolence which had always irritated Valorum. 

With effort, the chancellor curbed his annoyance. "The heir?" 

"Sleeping peacefully. He has stopped demanding to see the Regent. I have explained that he cannot be allowed to visit until we find the source of the threat." 

"And what progress have you made there?" Valorum asked. 

"None yet. The surveillance holorecorders have been installed and activated as you instructed. We have checked the holovids already available to us; most show nothing usable. We are unable to proceed further, I'm afraid." Maul's expression of regret sounded patently insincere. 

A muted chime at the door, and Valorum palmed the code to open the doors. "Don't be dissuaded so easily, Maul. This, and Anakin's safety, are your only priorities." 

"Understood," Maul answered, before closing the communication. 

Valorum turned to the four young men and two women who stood at attention before him, taking their measure with keen eyes. They did not flinch under his inspection, nor did they meet his eyes. Exuding quiet confidence, they waited, staring straight ahead. 

Valorum's tone became solemn, almost sharp, as he began. "You six are the elite of your corps. You have been training for nearly a year now to do one thing: work in service to the Regent, in whatever capacity he may require." The chancellor moved slowly down the line. "Your sole responsibility from this moment forward is to keep the heir alive. Nothing else. You will guard him 'round the clock. You will not be relieved by other troops; you will not give information to anyone but the Regent or to me, as his agent. You will take no orders save my own and those of Regent Kenobi." 

He paused to give his words weight. "If the heir should die while in your care, I will see to it that each of you dies the same day." His words sank into the air like stones into water. "You do not take orders from the heir, most particularly if they contradict the orders of the Regent. Anakin Skywalker is not your master; he does not hold the power of life or death over you, unless you fail to protect him. Is that clear?" 

A chorus of voices answered in the affirmative. 

"You will begin this morning, at the conclusion of this briefing. Relieve Maul and take charge of your responsibility," Valorum finished. "Dismissed." 

The small woman closest to him - the ranking officer - saluted sharply and led her small cadre from the room, even as the door to Kenobi's quarters slid open to make way for Xanatos. 

With easy grace, the pleasure slave went to one knee and bowed before the chancellor, who motioned at him impatiently. "I've no time for this. Get up. How is he?" 

"He is much better, Excellency." 

The happiness in Xanatos' voice gave Valorum momentary pause, and irritated him unaccountably. "I take it you are feeling secure with your place in the scheme of things, young man?" he asked, taking a secret pleasure in the crestfallen and cautious look which drowned the joy on the other man's face. 

"No, Excellency. I am merely pleased that the Regent will be well again." 

"His welfare is important to you?" 

"Very much so, Chancellor." The sudden strength of his words gave them conviction. 

"You may return to your quarters in the seraglio. Now." 

"Yes, Excellency." 

As Xanatos made his way to the door, Valorum wasted no time entering the bedchamber. He found Kenobi sitting on the edge of the bed, naked from the waist up, probing the pinkish wound with three tentative fingers. Valorum stopped short, and his hissing intake of breath betrayed his surprise. 

The wound was nearly healed. Overnight, jagged edges had mended; torn tissues had knitted together, sealing neatly and leaving only a raised scar where the weapon pierced the flesh. 

Valorum raised shocked eyes to Kenobi. "You are healed! How is this possible?" 

Obi-Wan turned toward the chancellor, his expression inscrutable. "You know the answer to that, old friend." 

"You didn't have time," Valorum insisted, moving quickly to his side to examine the injury for himself. "There wasn't time..." 

"I slept very little." 

"But in front of a slave?" Incredulity seeped through, and Valorum was shocked at himself. "You would give that much away? What were you thinking?" 

"I have been trained by the Sith, Valorum. I am capable of this, and more, and the slaves know it. This is nothing outside of the realm of my abilities." Kenobi reached for a tunic and pulled it on, testing the limits of his flexibility. 

Valorum moved away, regaining his composure with effort. "Yes," he murmured. "Of course." He glanced up as Kenobi continued to dress. "Are you feeling entirely well?" 

"Well enough." The Regent buckled his belt and turned his piercing hazel gaze on Valorum. "Has the guard been dispatched?" 

"It has." He waited for the inevitable question. 

"Now, Valorum. Let's discuss Ambassador Windu. And his intolerance for my methods." 

"Yes, Highness," Valorum said. His mouth tightened, as though something bitter had passed between his lips. 

Valorum spoke of doubt, and insurrection. He revealed what he knew of Windu's dissatisfaction, of the schism in the Council of Advisors. He paced, and Kenobi listened dispassionately, absorbed in the nuances of the information. Observations, facts, opinions - Valorum offered all he knew, information he had carefully gathered over the course of many years' faithful service. 

When he was finished, Kenobi stood for a very long time with his head bowed, arms wrapped around his body, deep in thought. "Do you think Windu is responsible for this?" he asked finally. 

"I cannot be sure, Obi-Wan." For the first time in a very long time, Valorum used the Regent's given name. "It is possible. There are so many now who would gladly see you fail, who would trade Taganor for political advancement. They would prefer to see this world become a mere signpost for the Empire. And Anakin...if he is exploited as the Sith have intended from the beginning, there will be no hope at all." 

"I know," Obi-Wan said. The underlying stress in his voice tore at Valorum's heart. He had seen the young man survive by wits alone in a difficult, impossibly dangerous situation, and the strain of that weariness was evident in Obi-Wan's voice. 

After a moment, Valorum said, "Surveillance equipment has been installed throughout the fortress, as you instructed." 

"Have your people check the holos every cycle. If there is treason...I must know." Heavy sadness accompanied the statement. "There is nothing else to be done, for now. No one is to know the progress of my healing, other than Xanatos." 

"My lord..." Valorum hesitated. "Who will guard you against assassination? We cannot be certain the attempt on Anakin's life was focused exclusively on him, and was not intended for you as well." 

"No, we can't. But his safety is all-important." 

"If you die, I would rather he were dead as well. Better that than the fate we will endure at his hands." Valorum uttered the words before he could think better of them. 

"And will you bring that about, Chancellor, if I should be killed?" Obi-Wan's voice became low and dangerous. 

"I will not. Unless you order it." Stubbornly, Valorum held his ground. 

"See to the boy. I have other business to attend to." With a wave of his hand, Kenobi dismissed his advisor, who bowed stiffly, and turned to go. 

"Valorum." 

"Yes?" 

"Be vigilant. There will be no second chances." 

**********

 

Like the sudden light from a star in a deadened sky, the Force returned to Qui-Gon Jinn, washing over and into him, cradling him. He breathed it in and stood, trembling, as awareness of Kenobi's life essence assaulted him, reassuring and powerful. 

It made no sense that he should be so connected to this man he did not respect, could not honor, this man who wanted nothing more from him than his body, prostrated and exposed to desire. 

A storm began to swell within him, swirling with frustration and fury. He had been dismissed and ignored by the Regent as beneath notice, subjected to humiliation and subjugation, and he was no closer to escape than he had been before. And yet, his body craved what had been given and withdrawn, and his heart was whole because Kenobi lived, because there would be no breaking of that bond. He did not want it, but he could not suppress it, and it was driving him half out of his mind. 

Qui-Gon tried to suppress the raging anger, but it would not be refused. He turned, blindly, grasping at the first thing within reach. A moment later, a table laden with fruit and beverages went flying, hurled across the room with the satisfying use of brute force. 

Jinn's hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into his palms as he trembled with the massive concentration necessary to calm himself. He pulled his emotions back, consigned them to a distant corner of his heart, and locked them away. They could serve no purpose here, in this place. He was not free, and might never be free again. 

The very thought staggered him. He sat on the corner of the bed, his entire body shaking, picturing the path ahead. For now, he had chosen to submit, to be remade into an instrument of pleasure because necessity demanded it. He could not be responsible for another's injury or death, not while it was entirely preventable by the willing sacrifice of his body. 

The cost was much deeper, much truer than that. 

Kenobi held the power, and while Jinn chafed beneath the invisible leash, a part of him had already quietly acquiesced, had folded like a flower beneath the weight of the bond between them. Even now, clamped off by Kenobi's efforts, the link sang its presence, weaving an irresistible cloth around them both. 

What would he do when Kenobi finally demanded a demonstration of what he'd learned? That one question was rapidly becoming the center of his days and nights, and while he dreaded that moment, he had begun to anticipate it with a hunger he had never dreamed he would be capable of. 

It had been no hardship to submit to the deft hands and teasing tongues of his teachers. His mind rebelled, but his body bent willingly to its worshippers, and he had learned to worship in kind. The lessons had begun to blur into a kind of lust-induced haze, and he was an apt pupil. The thought both disgusted and excited him, and the warring emotions churning within him only added to his freshly kindled anger. 

Kenobi had no right to extract such a payment for his refusal to serve the Sith. It was obscene. It was... 

It was something he was prepared to give freely. 

A growling sound of denial welled within him, manifesting in the Force, and small objects turned, smashed, shattered under the pressure of his fierce confusion. 

The door to his quarters slid open suddenly, to admit Ket'al, whose knowing green eyes ran quickly over Qui-Gon, and then turned to the rest of the room. His fellow slave surveyed the localized disaster and remarked, "This won't solve the problem, Qui-Gon." 

"I know," the Jedi replied through gritted teeth. He wiped his palms on his leggings, turning hopeful eyes to the other man. "Kenobi...he's all right?" 

Ket'al nodded once. "He lives, although it's somewhat of a mystery how he managed to evade not one but two saber-stars. The heir is lucky to have such a man protecting him." 

And who protects Kenobi? Qui-Gon thought, but resolutely quashed the sentiment. 

"You look as though you've been without sleep," Ket'al observed, giving him a knowing look Qui-Gon had come to recognize very well. "What troubles you most, Qui-Gon? Is it the lessons you learn with us?" 

The question was earnest, asked without judgment, and Qui-Gon found that he very much wanted to speak truthfully. He hesitated, and finally answered, "I...don't know." 

"Is this training still difficult for you? We all have found the lessons most pleasurable." Ket'al flashed a white smile, and added, "Daro especially is quite taken with you. If given a choice, I doubt that he would leave your rooms for much aside from a hot bath or a summons from the Regent..." Ket'al stopped suddenly, eyes narrowing. "That's it, isn't it? You are disturbed because a summons has not come for you." 

"No," Qui-Gon said immediately. Then, more slowly, he conceded his weakness, knowing it was useless to pretend innocence with this man, who knew him intimately. "Yes." 

Ket'al reached for him, touched his face softly. "He will send for you, Jedi. I don't know why this is important to you, or why you cannot accept your own needs, but I assure you: he *will* send for you. And you will please him as no one else has before." 

Qui-Gon felt his heart drop for reasons he could not have articulated, and he asked, "What of the Regent's favorite?" 

"Xanatos? He will learn, finally, that power passes quickly, on the whims of the moment." Ket'al sounded satisfied with that probability, and Qui-Gon was deeply unsettled. 

"And now, to business, Jedi. You have but a few basic lessons left. I've come to teach you one of the simplest, and one of the more difficult." Ket'al tilted his head, waiting. 

With a sigh, Qui-Gon reached for the fastenings of his tunic. 

"No." The word was a command, and Qui-Gon halted, amazed that he had obeyed so completely, without thought. "This is the lesson. The way you disrobe is all-important. It can heighten desire, or dampen it. Your way is functional at best. There is no artifice in you, Qui-Gon, and I don't want to change that. However. You must learn to slow your motions, to be graceful in your actions. Like so." 

Ket'al's right hand was already moving, hypnotic and slow. One fastening at a time, loosed with deceptive ease, and in a few moments, the garment hung open, exposing the hard muscle of a broad chest. He slipped the cloth from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle of crimson. "Economy of movement," he said, sliding his hands beneath the waistband of his trousers and dropping them with a single motion. 

With a swiftness that took Qui-Gon's breath away, he knelt before the Jedi in a display of complete submission. He raised his face, smiling at the older man. 

"So you see how it is done." He rose to his feet unselfconsciously and gestured. "Now you." 

Qui-Gon had grown accustomed to the give and take of such lessons. With a talent perfected during years of repetitive training, he mimicked Ket'al expertly, dropping his clothing to the floor and kneeling. 

"I'll have to do something about your clothes," Ket'al said cryptically, grinning as he cast a critical eye on the brown and ivory Jedi tunics and trousers. "These rough fabrics won't do at all. I'll order some new things, in shades of green and blue. They'll compliment your eyes, and the silver in your hair." 

"Does that matter?" Qui-Gon said irritably, collecting his clothing and tossing it on the bed. 

"It will to the Regent. And that is the point, isn't it?" Ket'al smiled, resting a hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Now. There is a most difficult lesson remaining, my friend, one that will not come easily to you. It is the lesson of penetration, of being taken and taking when required." 

Qui-Gon tensed under the hand. His throat tightened as he imagined the prospect of spreading his body out beneath the Regent, waiting to be taken. Guilt consumed him as he felt the fantasy overwhelm him, the need for possession and completion burning itself into his imagination... 

A shudder wracked Qui-Gon, and Ket'al misinterpreted it as revulsion. "We all have difficulty with this lesson, even those of us who are made to be loved in this fashion," he soothed, taking Qui-Gon's hand. "It will grow easier with time." 

"Show me," Qui-Gon said hoarsely, trying to ignore the blatant response of his body to the pictures his mind was creating. 

"Here," Ket'al said, leading him to the bed. "The Regent prefers a bedmate who offers passion instead of fear. If you come to him with fear, he will sense it, and he will not take you. He is not overly fond of inflicting pain on unwilling bedmates." Ket'al stopped, studied him. Slowly, he added, "And somehow, I think this is no longer just to save the skin of another, Jedi. I think perhaps that it is what you want, now." 

Qui-Gon could not speak. He climbed onto the bed, rolling onto his back, waiting, tension thrumming though his limbs as Ket'al's words echoed in his ears. I think perhaps it is what you want. 

Ket'al climbed up beside him, stretching out along the taut length of his body, stroking him lightly. "I won't harm you, Qui-Gon. You must know that." 

Mutely, the Jedi nodded, turning his face toward the other man. Green eyes met blue, anticipation and understanding locked together with such intensity that neither heard the door slide open. 

"Ket'al." The voice rang with authority, and both men turned to see Xanatos in the doorway, eyes on the tableau before him. 

"Xanatos." Ket'al's expression hardened, and he climbed from the bed. "What do you want?" 

Xanatos stared at the pleasure slave until he flushed under the hard look. Slowly, he turned his burning gaze on the naked figure of his former master, and his words seemed hotter than a brand on tender skin. 

"This lesson is mine to teach." 

**********

 

In the total darkness of his cabin, the Sith Lord sat undisturbed, watching the stars streak by as his vessel sped toward Taganor on the Emperor's business. 

So many stars. So many worlds, and so many missions already undertaken. Yet none had been as ultimately satisfying as this particular mission promised to be. 

He had come to the Dark with a full heart, ready to serve, ready to become Darkness. There were those who had chosen other paths, other loyalties, but he found that he was unconcerned with all of them. Soon, the Empire would control all of the known worlds, and there would be only Darkness, only the Sith. His heart swelled with malevolent glee. 

One obstacle remained. The Emperor was blind to it, but at last he had sensed the truth. Hence the mission, and his instructions. Leave no doubt as to the power of the Dark Side, my young apprentice. 

He had no intention of leaving Taganor without accomplishing that directive. And in the process, he would have his revenge. It was coming; he could taste the sweet tang of hate, burning in his blood, lingering in his mouth as he spoke the name softly. 

"Kenobi." Mortal enemy. 

Yes, there was always a moment when the fates turned, when a chance could be taken, when the balance shifted. 

This would be that moment. 

A voice at the door roused him from his reverie. "We are two day's journey from Taganor, my lord. Shall I signal the planet to prepare for our arrival?" 

"Not yet." The tall figure of the Sith Lord rose, gathering his black robes about him, and turned to face the captain. "I will inform you when it is time." 

"Very well." 

The Emperor's chosen representative smiled to himself, a smile as black as the void in his soul. 

He would watch Kenobi suffer, and the circle would be complete.


	6. Shadows and Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valorum searches for information. Qui-Gon is taught, and descends deeper into his confusion and darkness.

Moist humidity weighted the air, sticky and cloying. The climate control systems within the palace were off-line for repairs, and Taganor's tropical heat was slowly infiltrating the interior of the fortress, steaming up the narrow transparisteel windows. Tiny droplets of water collected on the consoles where Valorum's fingers wandered, switching back and forth between the small display screens.

Valorum sighed and blotted the sweat on his upper lip with the back of his hand, keeping his eyes glued to the vid screen. Examining surveillance holos was the worst kind of tedium; move too fast, and something crucial might be missed. Too slow, and endless hours crept by without uncovering anything useful. There were only a few holos to view, since the expanded system had only been in use since early that morning, and the thought of adding dozens of new locations made him wince.

With a flick of his finger, the chancellor cycled through the vids, looking for anything unusual. The task was daunting, and incredibly time-consuming, but there was no one on his staff he could trust implicitly to report information accurately. If there were a traitor among them, undoubtedly many of the staff had been bought off with Imperial credits, silenced until the time was right. Even Maul was suspect, despite his position as head of security; Valorum would not risk allowing him access to the security vids.

Activity within the fortress had decreased dramatically since the assassination attempt. Movement was restricted to guards, advisors, and those with necessary business. There were frequent identity checks conducted by the guards posted at nearly every turn. It should have been impossible for anyone to find their way past the heightened security. Despite the myriad precautions, experience told Valorum that a talented killer could find a way. Eventually, there would be another attempt.

Datapads were stacked carelessly on the console to his left, filled with information downloaded from the Imperial network. Valorum selected one from the pile and began to scan through the information, eyes flickering restlessly from the holos to the text every few seconds. His research had been extensive, almost exhaustive. He'd been very careful to leave no trace of his requests for files; if the Imperial authorities discovered what he'd been retrieving, there would be questions he could not answer, and Obi-Wan would be compromised.

A small picture of Qui-Gon Jinn appeared in the top left corner of the screen, surrounded by descriptive text. Valorum scrolled through a lengthy biography. Apparently, the man was wanted by the Empire in connection with a number of instances of sabotage and outbreaks of rebellion on distant worlds. He was one of a core group of Jedi who had been away from Coruscant at the time of the attack, and had escaped to parts unknown. Details of the man's past were sketchy, and Valorum suspected that the destruction of the Jedi records had hampered Imperial efforts to capture the remaining members of that Order. He smiled grimly at the irony of it.

With interest, Valorum studied the picture. It was of a much younger man, a man who no longer bore much resemblance to the tired, thin captive who fascinated the Regent. Mid-length brown hair framed an angular face, and intense blue eyes stared out at the chancellor from the screen. A hint of a devilish smile, just a variation of the resigned, patient smile he'd seen on Jinn's face as he was made to kneel before the Regent for the first time.

He turned his attention back to the text, reading of Jinn's expertise with negotiation, his reputation as a fierce warrior. His proficiency in ancient and modern weapons had been unquestioned among his peers. Valorum noted that Obi-Wan's assessment of the man had been largely correct, in many respects. In the many years since the Jedi had been all but obliterated, Jinn had been seen only a few times, but the number of worlds where a Force-user could safely hide had finally dwindled down to a mere handful.

Somewhere, the remaining Jedi who had escaped Coruscant were hiding. And Jinn probably knew where. Valorum paused to wonder what would happen if he were tortured, forced to reveal information. It could mean the end, not just of the Jedi, but of any hope of breaking free of the Empire. Jinn would escape from Taganor at his earliest opportunity, and perhaps it would be best for all of them if that were to happen sooner, rather than later.

A flash of black caught his eye, and Valorum glanced up, drawn by the sight of Maul stalking across the heir's rooms, bowing low. His jaw tightened, and after a moment, he turned up the audio portion of the holo. Mundane conversation, about Maul's shadowcraft, his ability as a pilot, his work as chief of the Regent's security force. Anakin was naturally curious, and could talk the ear off a Bantha. The heir's distrust of Maul was echoed in his stiff posture, but Valorum believed the boy was safe enough, surrounded by his personal guard. And if Anakin was making progress toward overcoming his fear of Maul, so much the better - it would serve his interests in the long run.

Listening absently to the chatter, Valorum returned the datapad to the stack and picked up another, clicking through the index of personnel, past rosters and cargo manifests, until he came to the property inventory of a particular broker. After a moment, he found the entry he was seeking, and opened the file.

The image was a sensual one, and Valorum found himself entranced. Eyes the color of azurian crystal, fixed on a faraway point, and the fine features of the face reflected a thoughtful melancholy. The slaver had been careful to attire the young man in flattering colors; soft purple gauze draped gently over one shoulder and across the well-muscled chest. A slave collar of expensive metal - no doubt placed for show and removed the instant a sale was negotiated - graced the slender throat. Xanatos' younger self radiated a quiet sadness, and yet, there was a spark in those eyes, something Valorum couldn't put his finger on...

As he made a search of the file, he noted the sketchy details. No historical or biographical information. It was as if the boy had not existed until he was sold into slavery. Records of his training as a personal slave, and his status as a virgin, were sketchy at best. There was no mention of the young man's home world, no particulars about his lineage. It was almost as if he had been a phantom before his arrival on Taganor.

Valorum frowned. Something about the picture was bothering him. He absorbed the tiny details - the long hair, draped down across the chest. The full lips. The ornaments in Xanatos' hair, the jewels at his throat... With a gasp, Valorum realized what was troubling him. The crystals on the collar were not just for show; they were a power source. The collar was a Force-dampener.

But why would such precautions be taken with such a young slave?

Disturbed, Valorum marked the file and set it aside for the Regent to browse. He rummaged for one more pad, still listening to Maul as he answered Anakin's incessant questions. Quickly, he scanned through a list of specialized weapons, including the deadly saber-star, a weapon few Jedi had ever been trained to use. It was difficult to control, once sent on its way, and was regarded as a weapon of destruction. Just before the Empire took form, its use had been outlawed by the Jedi, and hence the Republic. The Sith had adopted its use almost immediately.

"There are no redeemable Jedi, Your Highness. The Emperor has decreed that it is so, and therefore, it is so." Maul's matter-of-fact statement, delivered in his most soft and persuasive tone, caused Valorum to look up, giving his full attention to the holovid.

"That's not the way Obi-Wan puts it." Stubborn resistance creased Anakin's forehead. "What makes you think you know more than he does?"

"I would never presume that I am more knowledgeable, Highness," Maul said smoothly. "I know only what the Emperor has written. He has given us guidelines we are to accept and abide by. His wisdom is the light we must all follow. Even the Regent must bow before him." Maul's robes rustled as he settled back in his chair.

"Tell me more of the Emperor's philosophy." Anakin sounded eerily mature, and so intrigued that a shiver clawed its way up Valorum's spine. He shut off the vid with a click and removed it from the console, adding it to the handful of datapads he'd gathered. Time to brief the Regent.

**********  
Qui-Gon lay back against the pillows, stretching out his nude body and moving over to accommodate Ket'al as the other man climbed onto the bed with him. His heart was still reeling from Ket'al's apt observation - that intimacy with Kenobi was no longer a thing he feared, but something he desired. His body warred with his independence, with the will of the Force, with every concept he'd been taught as a Jedi. It was becoming difficult to sort out the conflicting emotions, and the line of his discomfort was shifting, blurring, with every day that passed.

His feelings about the Regent were soft-focus, both dangerous to think of and intriguing. He had been ready to accept the will of the Force, until Kenobi had pushed him away. His sense of the Regent's fear, and Kenobi's underlying need for control, had sent their newly formed bond into chaos. Qui-Gon no longer knew what to expect, or what would come next in the strange dance of their souls.

Ket'al stroked a practiced hand down his body, gentling him almost as though he were a skittish animal, and Qui-Gon centered himself. He'd become accustomed to the lessons, to the touch of the hands of virtual strangers against his skin. His nudity no longer bothered him. Jedi were not self-conscious about their bodies in the conventional sense to begin with, but it had been about much more than disrobing, from the moment the first pleasure lesson began.

The act of removing his clothes had come to symbolize a stripping away of other long-standing barriers, a lowering of his defenses. It had been a signal of his cooperation, and on some level, Qui-Gon still resisted, still resented, still hoped for a way to escape his circumstances.

Kenobi had intended to break him, to remake him into a slave fit for nothing but the Regent's sexual appetites. He could accept the bond - could accept almost anything the Force dictated - but Kenobi pushed him away, closing him off with such anger that he could not break through. He recognized the fear in the Regent; he felt it himself, but it did not change what had come to pass. The bond was formed, and would not be broken. And in its service, he would follow its bidding.

None of that changed his deep pleasure at the strange stirrings of desire he felt when he was taught his lessons, or his guilt that such lessons should wake his body and ignite a fire within that could not be checked. Over and over, he'd told himself that he had complied merely to spare Daro injury, but even that excuse had faded away quietly until it no longer occurred to him as he lay stretched beneath the others, learning, absorbing, becoming.

"You know I won't hurt you, Qui-Gon." Ket'al spoke, breaking Qui-Gon's reverie, and he nodded without speaking, turning blue eyes filled with quiet acquiescence to the other man, who nodded in return. Neither heard the door slide open.

"Ket'al." Spoken low, with authority.

Qui-Gon turned his head sharply toward the sound of the voice, even as a hand dropped to his chest, warning him, restraining him. He obeyed Ket'al's unspoken command, twisting slightly on the bed to stare at the intruder.

Xanatos stood just inside the closed door, arms folded across his chest, slave bracelet glittering. His eyes met Qui-Gon's, then dropped lower, taking a leisurely tour of his former master's body, examining every inch of him with patience and deliberation. Qui-Gon's breath caught in his throat as he withstood the detailed inspection, and he quickly masked his astonishment.

Ket'al's expression hardened as he rolled from the bed and approached Xanatos with graceful strides. "Xanatos. What do you want?"

Xanatos met the other slave's eyes with an uncompromising stare, and for a moment, the two men warred with silent glances.

Ket'al folded his arms across his chest, a mirror of Xan's posture; muscles tight and tense, jaw set. Xanatos' unflinching gaze never wavered.

"This lesson is mine to teach." Xanatos spoke softly, simple words, with an implied meaning that raised Qui-Gon's eyebrow.

Ket'al frowned. "The Regent assigned me the task of seeing to these lessons, and you'll have no part in it."

Xanatos, relaxed and confident, stepped closer to Ket'al like a cat scenting its prey. "Do you really think the Regent will deny me anything?" he purred, tone silken and dangerous. "If I wish to prepare this slave for my master's pleasure, in the way he likes best, he will thank me for it. Who better than the master's favorite to teach what remains of these lessons?"

"You've been listening to the gossip of the old women for too long," Ket'al said scornfully. "This slave has learned nearly all that is required. I don't know what you're up to, but-"

"Do you think I will ever account to you?" Xanatos circled Ket'al's nude body, smiling in a way that made Qui-Gon cold suddenly. It was an expression he had never seen on his former apprentice's face, and it caused an unsettled discomfort deep within him. "I know you haven't taught the most important of the lessons, Ket'al. It's your habit to save that for the end, when the slave's inhibitions are sufficiently broken down."

"Why this sudden interest?" Ket'al didn't budge, and only his head turned slightly to follow Xan's movements.

"That's none of your concern." Xanatos wrapped his fingers around the plain silver slave bracelet Ket'al wore, tugging at it, stroking his fingers down the muscled arm; the gesture was gently menacing. "Now get out. Or I'll tell the Regent that your lessons are poorly administered, that you favor this slave, and that you have not taught him properly. I'll make it clear this slave is...uncooperative." The threat was delivered softly, as a lover might speak, low and persuasive, but ice dripped from every word.

"He won't believe that," Ket'al said immediately, striking Xan's hand away from his arm.

"Take that chance, and Daro will pay the price for your arrogance." An unpleasant smile curled Xan's lips.

Ket'al paled. "Why bring him into this?" Qui-Gon sensed distress, and genuine concern, and knew Xanatos could sense it as well; there was a shiver of sensitivity across the remains of their long-ago bond, enough to make Qui-Gon sit forward instinctively.

"Because his fate is unimportant to me." Xanatos stopped his circular prowl, raising his head to look directly into Ket'al's eyes. "Leave us."

Ket'al turned to Qui-Gon, as if to speak, but the Jedi cut him off with a small smile of reassurance. "I'll be all right."

After another moment of hesitation, Ket'al retrieved his clothes and tugged on his trousers, glowering at Xanatos, who watched him impassively. With his soft red tunic in hand, he shrugged past Xanatos, stopping at the door to speak, quietly. "Qui-Gon. It will be a part of life here, one that can't be avoided; you will be shared with those who won't care for your welfare. Do as he says, and he will teach you what you need to know. I'm sorry."

"No apologies." Qui-Gon used a subtle push with the Force to reassure Ket'al, and repeated, "I'll be fine."

Ket'al smiled slightly, and as Qui-Gon returned the smile, something sad passed across Ket'al's expression. "I hope that's true, Jedi." With a last glance toward Xanatos, he opened the door and slipped through.

Xanatos turned to his former master, amusement in his eyes, demeanor much more relaxed. "He's very fond of you. It's easy to see."

"You took pleasure in threatening him," Qui-Gon observed, crossing an arm over his stomach and turning on his side. "Was that necessary?" His displeasure was evident in his tone.

Xan looked faintly surprised by the question. "You don't understand the politics of the seraglio. I have a position to maintain. I had to make him yield his control to me, or I would be seen as weak, Qui-Gon. I can't permit that." When Qui-Gon said nothing, Xan continued his explanation. "If I showed no interest in you, they would pounce on that as a sign I was no longer in favor, or concerned about retaining the Regent's favor. By asserting my power here, I've made it clear that I won't tolerate the threat you represent."

"Am I a threat to you?" Qui-Gon spoke the words before he could call them back, or reason them through. They came from a place too instinctual to be logical, too basic to be intellectual.

His question struck Xan like a thunderclap shattering the peace of a clear blue sky; the other man's brow darkened, his eyes turning stormy. "I have no reason to doubt the Regent's interest in me," he said quietly, almost reverently.

"Do you intend to teach me?" Qui-Gon asked, purposefully blunt. The thought stirred strange fires in him, flames of desire and curiosity that leaped and licked at his judgment, battering at him, warring with his shock and dismay. To be in such a position - to be taught carnal skills by a man he'd treated like a son, raised and nurtured to be something he could never be - the thought of it plunged him back into turmoil. He closed off his feelings, crimped them into the back of his consciousness, concealing them as best he could.

Xanatos turned and regarded him with those breathtaking eyes; Qui-Gon had never failed to notice their clear beauty as the boy was growing to manhood beside him. "I will have to teach you. I cannot send Ket'al back to you until you have the knowledge, or he will wonder at my motives." His head tilted, and his eyes flickered appraisingly across the naked body displayed before him.

"He wonders already," Qui-Gon pointed out, none too comfortable with that second, lingering look. "None of them trust you, Xanatos. They think you are hungry for power, too fond of your position here."

"They are perceptive." Xan's voice lowered to a soft growl, and the sound of it raised goosebumps on Qui-Gon's skin. "I must begin the lesson, for Ket'al is sure to return, and I haven't much time to properly instruct you."

"This is..." Qui-Gon struggled to find the words to express his confusion, but Xanatos hushed him.

"You mustn't think, Master. Only feel. I will teach you, and once done, we will forget this took place."

**

Slowly, as Qui-Gon watched, Xan unfastened his clothing in the manner Qui-Gon had been taught only moments before, but there was a difference. As Xan's experienced fingers moved across the silks, Qui-Gon found himself mesmerized; it was easy to imagine those same fingers brushing across his skin. Easy to want them there, moving slowly, sensually...but it was wrong, unthinkable; that such needs could be there, just beneath the surface, raw and aching to be met, stole breath from his body and brought cold fear rushing up within him.

He had grown accustomed to wanting Kenobi; he had learned to accept his lust for the other slaves, when they used their talents to show him a side of himself he had not known could exist.

But to look at Xanatos -- at his smooth skin, at the strong lines of muscle and the curves of shoulder and hip - he could feel the hardness against his belly, and he knew that his body demanded its own sacrifices. Somehow, he had to regain control of his needs, but it was so difficult to put aside the wanting...

Xanatos laid his clothes carefully aside and approached the bed, climbing on from the foot of it, settling back on his heels near the edge. He hesitated, and the words he spoke seemed difficult for him. "The Regent prefers to take his bedmates, to possess them. You will be no exception. He will enjoy dominating you, Qui-Gon." Something like hurt passed across his former student's face. "So you must let go of that part of you kept silent for so long, if you wish to survive here, to please him."

"I do not wish to survive here," Qui-Gon said, almost automatically, and somewhere inside, he registered his own surprise at the lack of passion in his denial. "I will find a way to leave this place."

"Will you? I wonder," Xanatos said, in a tone more harsh than Qui-Gon had expected. "He is drawn to you, and he is most persuasive."

"I am not his slave," Qui-Gon answered softly.

"You will be." The words were simple, and they had the desired effect; a hot blush lit Qui-Gon's cheeks. "So. The thought of this is not repulsive to you?"

Qui-Gon said nothing, and his exterior was that of the calm master, but Xanatos had once known him better than anyone alive, and it was not possible to hide his curiosity.

"You must call on your desire, Jedi. And let it serve you in this place, as you will serve him." Xanatos gave him a knowing look, and without warning, he crawled up Qui-Gon's body, pressing his lithe form against the larger man. "He will cause you to forget that you were a Jedi. You will do anything to keep his favor, to feel him inside you. You will break the Code, and be glad of it." Xanatos was touching him, hands sure on his body, finding and stirring every pleasure point he possessed. "And when you find yourself forgetting what you once were, you will know the truth of being owned."

Hot, greedy lips covered his, and a hand gently clasped his erection, moving with deliberate strokes, stirring him to full hardness. "I will not take you. That is for my master alone," came the soft whisper. "You must learn the purity of this act for yourself, in another way. And I will teach you this..."

Xan sat up suddenly, drawing Qui-Gon up with him, and turned his back to the Jedi, straddling his legs. He began to undulate, rhythmically, irresistibly, his ass against Qui-Gon's stomach. He brought one of Qui-Gon's large hands forward, and moaned as it enclosed his cock, moving in the same rhythm.

"Do you know what it is, to take another inside you?" Xan's words were soft, growled against his throat. "Have you ever sunk deep into the tightness of another, thrusting until you find ecstasy?"

"No," Qui-Gon groaned, feeling the last threads of his sanity and control slipping away as the rounded ass pressed against him, and his swollen shaft slipped between the parted cheeks. Years of celibacy, undone at the first touch of the Regent's hand, had been torn away by his lessons in pleasure. The man swaying sensuously against him made him want to forget everything but the glint of dark rapture in those blue eyes, and the promise of what would come when the lessons were over. It was so easy, to lose himself in the stirrings of his desire...

"That is a feeling you must understand, to be what he wants," Xan whispered, head thrown back against Qui-Gon's shoulder. "You must know what the sensation is, what pleasure your body gives him, so that you may understand how to increase it." Slowly, Xan rocked, and his rhythmic writhing brought Qui-Gon closer and closer to that hidden entrance. "Now you must take me, and it will all be clear to you." His whisper became urgent, and he rose up, bringing Qui-Gon's cock in line, so that it pressed against Xan's passage. "Take me. I'm prepared for you...I'm slick, and ready..."

Qui-Gon's mind exploded in a red-hot fury of lust. His hands closed over Xan's hips, pulling him even closer, and bent him forward. Immediately, Xan assumed a posture of submission, hips thrust toward Qui-Gon, head lowered on pillowed arms.

Without tenderness, Qui-Gon took the rounded hips in his big hands and caressed them, staring at the sight presented before him. He shuddered, a soul-wracking tremor that shook him from the core, and pressed the tip of his cock to the tight ring, breaching it easily. He moved the hips beneath him, and his eyes fluttered closed as he sank in, pushing slowly to the hilt, buried in the clutching heat.

He began to move, urged on by Xan's guttural cries of pleasure, rolling his hips hard, urgently, stroking deep, striking the point of ecstasy inside the younger man that made him buck beneath each thrust. Closer and closer to that moment where rapture cannot be denied, and Qui-Gon went howling across the brink, satiated, spending himself inside his former padawan, in an act he could not have comprehended even a few days before.

With that thought lingering in his mind, amid the haze of orgasm, he pulled his softening shaft free of Xan's body and dropped back on the bed, breathing in great gasps of air. His thoughts whirled in a thousand directions. He was a Jedi, trained to control his emotions, to ignore his passion, to focus it elsewhere. And yet, he took perverse pleasure in using Xanatos, knowing the 'lesson' was just as easily taught by another.

He wanted what he had just given Xanatos, and he wanted it from the Regent. More than anything he had ever desired in his life. His lust was strong, deep enough that he would deny all he was to indulge it.

Guilt and shame cascaded through his soul, tainting him, and he tried to push aside his longing, but he was out of control, and he could not draw the Force to him to calm his raging feelings.

Xanatos crept up beside him, wrapping his arms around Qui-Gon, calming the shivers that would not stop, that were born of dismay and overwhelming need. "Is this what you want?" Xan asked softly, combing his fingers through the tangled locks of silvered hair that feathered across Qui-Gon's shoulders. "This life, this hunger that controls your body? This is what the Jedi were afraid of, this base carnality. This is what they spent years training you to subdue, to make certain you would not succumb." The words were insidious, twining together and snaking through Qui-Gon's consciousness like tiny serpents. "Will you now leave behind the Code, and all that makes you who you are? Is this what you want, to be a slave to his passions, to open your body at his whim, to be possessed?"

Yes, thought Qui-Gon, yes, and I will kneel before him, and beg him to take his pleasure in me, and on me, and I will use my mouth and my hands to bring him joy, I will be his in all things... The sheer darkness of his thoughts, his needs, terrified him, and he struggled to master them, to put things into perspective.

"If you give in to desire, you are no longer a Jedi," Xan whispered. "Is this what you want?"

There was no choice to be made; Xan's words reminded him there was only one path, away from that which he craved, and back to the center of his being.

"No," Qui-Gon said, and the word was wrenched from him, a denial of his heart, of his body, of the Force's demands.

"Then you must swallow your pride, and doubt, and agree to his conditions," Xan said softly. "Become his personal guard, as he demands. You must protect him. It's the only way."

"I cannot." His refusal was strangled, and it choked him as he spoke the words. "I cannot serve the Dark side."

"Then you will serve his desire, until he tires of you, and in that passion, you will cease to be what you are. What you were born to be." Xanatos abruptly moved away.

Qui-Gon sat up, moving to the other edge of the bed. He could feel the other man's eyes on him, but he couldn't bear to look. "I won't betray the Jedi," he murmured.

Clothes rustled as Xan dressed quickly, then came to the side of the bed nearest Qui-Gon. He brushed his fingertips across Qui-Gon's collarbone, and his hand came to rest over Qui-Gon's thudding heart.

"You already have, Master. Here."

**********  
Obi-Wan Kenobi lowered himself into a chair, determined not to clutch at his side. He allowed himself the luxury of a grimace only because there was no one to witness it, and stopped to catch his breath. It would take longer to heal this way, with so much pressure on him to move, to be visible, to perform.

He swiped a hand across his face, casting an angry look toward the climate control panel. The heat was an added irritation, one of many. With an impatient motion, he jabbed a finger into the datapad, re-reading the information regarding the weapons employed by the assassin, and his frown became even deeper. He couldn't hope to protect Anakin against a skilled assassin with that kind of knowledge. It was far superior to his own training, and he knew his limitations where the use of weapons was concerned.

With a savage motion, he flung the pad aside and lowered his head onto his hand. Memories crowded in on him, and he pressed his fingers into his closed eyes, willing them away. It hurt too much to think of the past.

Valorum had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to convince him to set the Jedi free, to allow him to pursue his own destiny. Every word felt hollow to the Regent, ringing tonelessly against his certainty that the bond between them would serve some useful purpose. Valorum, to his credit, would not be dissuaded, and Obi-Wan sighed. His chancellor always had his best interests at heart, but if only he could feel the Force, he might have a broader perspective.

The thought brought a small chuckle. His own perspective had been skewed of late, and his ability to feel the Force irrelevant. If he could not control it, the Force was of no use to him. It had built a bond he could not fathom between his body and that of a stranger, and he could not comprehend the purpose of it. There was no love for Jinn, only a growing lust, and a feeling of connection that became harder to deny with each encounter.

Without moving from the chair, he moved the tip of his finger, and the holovid began to play on the main screen of his quarters. Anakin, calmly debriefing Maul as to Imperial edicts and philosophy. The scene seemed wrong, and Anakin's aura of calm reached him even through the filter of time. It was dark, and growing more in tune with the Darkness every moment. Soon, it would be too powerful for him to convert, and his status as a member of the walking wounded would make things even more difficult.

Obi-Wan glanced across the room, and the sparkle of something small and beautiful attracted his gaze. He beckoned it with the Force, and it came easily into his fingers. He rolled the faceted blue crystal gently between his hands, letting its energy flow sweetly into him, calming him. It had been so long...

Movement near the door made him turn his head, as his personal guard bowed low. "Excellency, the slave you summoned has arrived."

Obi-Wan made an impatient gesture and the guard stepped aside to admit Qui-Gon Jinn. Immediately, Jinn's churning emotions slammed up against the bond Kenobi had tried so desperately to shut down in the interests of preserving the few secrets he still possessed. His proximity to the Jedi made it impossible to ignore those emotions, so he picked them apart, trying to separate the various threads. Anticipation and desire were mixed with apprehension, their colors so vivid in the strange bindings between them that Obi-Wan took a moment to steady himself against it.

Jinn knelt gracefully in front of the Regent, his long hair flowing across his shoulders and falling forward as he bowed his head. He waited there, the perfect picture of submission...it would have fooled anyone, aside from the man it was meant to fool.

Obi-Wan made his way over to Jinn and laid his hand on that soft mane of hair, sinking his fingers in, reveling in the texture of it. "Look at me, Jedi," he said, and Jinn's hair slid between his fingers as the other man raised his face. Blue eyes met hazel, and Obi-Wan was surprised by the neutral blankness he saw there.

"Your lessons progress well, I hear." Kenobi's fingers dipped beneath Qui-Gon's chin, tipping it up even more, and a finger wandered across the relaxed lips. "Ket'al is a most talented teacher."

Qui-Gon said nothing, but the blue of his eyes deepened a shade.

"I have a gift for you. It's time you begin to understand your place here." Kenobi moved stiffly away, toward a small table near his bed.

"Your wounds are healing well, I hope." The soft words brought Kenobi up short, and he swallowed the angry retort that leapt into his throat.

"They heal. Don't concern yourself," he replied roughly, picking up a square box of native bone and flicking the catch. He removed the object within and turned back to Jinn, only to find the Jedi studying him with eyes full of concern.

"You seem to be in pain." Jinn volunteered one more comment, and then fell silent.

Kenobi made his way back to where his slave knelt, and extended the object to Qui-Gon. "This is yours, now, as you are mine. Once it has been placed, the clasp will seal, and it cannot be removed."

Jinn reached up a hand and took the slave bracelet from Obi-Wan. Their fingers brushed together, and the touch lingered, as the Force whispered its insistent commands to each man.

Qui-Gon slowly pulled away, and examined the cool silver bracelet. Tiny diamond-shaped patterns of blue were woven through the length of it, fashioned of costly gems. He looked back up at Kenobi, and hesitated, muscles tensing. After a long moment, he reached up, mutely offering him the bracelet, angling his body so his arm was positioned close - waiting for Kenobi to place the ornament as he pleased.

Obi-Wan stepped back, allowing himself to sample the raw emotion bleeding across the bond. His breath quickened, and he rasped, "No. You put it on."

Qui-Gon stroked the surface of the bracelet, and his fingers trembled as he wrapped the metal around the muscle of his upper arm. It conformed to the shape of his arm and locked into place, and a shudder ran through Qui-Gon, who looked down and away.

Satisfied, Kenobi turned his burning gaze on his captive. "Now you are truly my property, Jedi. And we shall see what you have learned."


	7. Elements of Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan reach a point of inevitability; another point of view gives new perspective.

The quiet somnolence of the waning night eluded Ket'al. Despite the onset of the moon cycle several hours before, the temperature had barely dropped, and thick, oppressive heat filled the darkness. His journey toward daylight was restless, filled with worry for the Jedi and seething anger toward Xanatos. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Xan's cold blue stare, his calculating smile. Simmering anger pushed adrenaline through his veins.

He turned on his stomach, spreading his arms and legs across the sheets, seeking the coolness found in the corners of the bed. It had been more than ten cycles since the Regent had summoned any of them to his bed, except for Xanatos and Daro. Often, Ket'al found himself wondering if the desire for his master's touch was what kept him awake on such evenings -- or if it was his resentment of Xanatos. Xan's monopoly on the Regent's affections had pushed the rest of them into patterns of waiting and yearning, and the physical longing could not forever be pushed aside. At times, he wished simply for the touch of another, a kind look, a gentle laugh, the sweetness of knowing and being known by someone he'd chosen. Such things were not to be, not for a pleasure slave.

There were companions in the seraglio, but they were friends of convenience, not of choice. Certainly he was fond of Daro and Leyran, but he yearned for a life outside, a chance to meet others, to know and understand the culture of places he had never been. He had been sold into slavery when he was still young enough to wonder about the galaxy, and his curiosity had never left him. The Regent had never forbidden them knowledge, and preferred intelligent company, but answers could not always come from datapads. Ket'al wanted more, and Qui-Gon Jinn's presence was an aching reminder of what he could never attain.

Befriending Qui-Gon had been his duty at first, but it had become his pleasure. The man was a complete enigma. Stubborn and proud, driven by his duty and his responsibilities, but at war with them as well. He had sensed much of the Jedi's inner conflict, watched him struggle and rage against the hidden desires of his own flesh, and it made Ket'al sympathetic to the plight of another slave in ways he had not been for many years. He resisted the urge to pry into his privacy, to bombard him with questions and pry loose the things he'd seen, the places he'd been. His hunger for distant lands had been fed by Qui-Gon's stories, but it was not enough, not enough...

He shifted again, turning his head on the pillow. Soft light drifted in the window as clouds shifted and shuddered over the moon, and he let his mind wander. Qui-Gon was a threat to Xanatos in ways no other slave had ever been, and it gave Ket'al a perverse thrill of pleasure to see the Regent's favorite struggling to keep pace. In his quest for Kenobi's favor, Xan would make a mistake, and his arrogance would cost him the Regent's attentions. Ket'al had been lonely of late. While being bedded by the Regent would not ease that pain, it would provide temporary respite from solitude - as being with Qui-Gon sometimes did.

He wondered if he should go to Qui-Gon, teach him the final few lessons. Word had already spread throughout the palace, practically from the moment Qui-Gon had left the Regent's quarters that day, that the Jedi wore the bracelet that marked him as Kenobi's property. Absently, his fingers ghosted across his own bracelet, settling with a sigh over his belly, drawing tiny circles over his heated, sweat-drenched skin.

Ket'al had been troubled by his inability to convince Xan to leave the lessons in his hands. He did not doubt that Qui-Gon could defend himself against any man, but Xanatos' slippery artifice was notoriously difficult to conquer. He was a manipulative, cunning man, not without his own brand of magnetism, but they had competed for status inside the seraglio far too often for Ket'al to be swayed by Xan's feral charm.

The beginnings of an erection nudged up toward his hand, and Ket'al petted it without much enthusiasm. Briefly, he considered finding Mathius and engaging in mutual satisfaction. Such things were not forbidden within the walls of their enclave, but he rarely indulged in the comfort offered by the other slaves. It served only to remind him how limited his choices actually were.

Mathius, however, was a different matter. A connection existed between them, different than the kinship of slaves who share living space, but Ket'al was reluctant to fan the spark of affection. Too many slaves had come and gone, and it would not do to lose the only person he cared for.

With a grumbling sigh, he swung his legs over the side and sat for a moment, pondering his options. Of all the things he might do, only one held much appeal, and he found himself dressed and in that place a few minutes later, entering the door. There was no privacy in the seraglio and no chimes on the doors. What need would a slave have for a door chime, when permission to enter was not his to give?

Qui-Gon stood in the midst of several trunks of clothing, wearing a bemused expression and a pair of diaphanous blue pants belted loosely at his waist. An explosion of color littered the room; fabric was everywhere. As Ket'al entered, the Jedi turned, and the pants revealed...everything.

Ket'al's eyebrow climbed and he chuckled quietly. "Pardon my intrusion, Qui-Gon. I wasn't able to sleep."

"These were delivered last night," Qui-Gon answered, gesturing helplessly about the room. "What does he expect me to do with all this?"

"Wear them," Ket'al replied, grinning. "At least, for a little while. I'm sure he won't want to see any garment on you for long." He moved closer, closed his hand around the beautiful, intricately fashioned bracelet Qui-Gon wore. "So it's true," he said softly. "He has given you his mark to wear."

"Yes." Qui-Gon said the word reluctantly, turning away as the sound of it fell into the air.

"That settles one issue, at least. Your lessons are at an end." Ket'al did not release his arm, but tightened his grip instead; the patterned metal bit into his palm. "Has he claimed you yet?"

"No. Tomorrow."

Ket'al let go. "It's no wonder you're sleepless, then." The subject hovered between them, and withered, dying away without another word.

Qui-Gon picked up a piece of cloth, rolling it between his fingers. "No ivory or brown," he said, catching Ket'al's eye. They shared a wry smile.

"I chose a range of fabrics, but you are free to wear what you wish, unless the Regent has been specific in his preferences."

"He hasn't." Slowly, Qui-Gon draped the cloth across the back of a couch. "But I'm sure he will." He sat heavily among the multicolored pants and shirts scattered over the furniture and clasped his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. Silence expanded between them, lengthening into tension, and Qui-Gon's hands moved nervously, clasping and unclasping.

"What is it, Qui-Gon?" Concern flooded Ket'al; the Jedi was tense, strung tight and coiled. He knelt on the floor beside the big man. "When I left you with Xanatos yesterday, did he...hurt you?" He laid his fingers over Qui-Gon's in a spontaneous gesture of comfort.

Qui-Gon raised haunted, troubled eyes to Ket'al's worried gaze. "He did nothing to me you would not have done. But the lesson would have been...easier...if you had been the one to teach it." Heavy nuance shaded Qui-Gon's tone, and Ket'al struggled to get beneath the surface.

"I know I am more familiar to you, but in a seraglio, such things are commonplace. Perhaps it was best that you understand and accept this from the outset."

"I understand all too well, Ket'al. Acceptance is another matter." Qui-Gon hesitated, and he seemed to be weighing his words carefully. "In this place, I could easily lose my way, my friend." The admission seemed a torment to Qui-Gon.

Ket'al wrapped his hand more tightly around Qui-Gon's fingers. "I know. You didn't expect that you would want him." His observation was met with silence, and he knew he had hit the mark. So many of them entered the seraglio expecting to be treated badly; so many of them harbored a secret hope that nothing about their captivity would be enjoyable. It had to be particularly difficult for a Jedi, a man who could not allow himself to fall victim to his passions, but who was still a man.

"I didn't expect the Force to betray me in this. All of my life, I have relied on the Force to guide my judgment, to reinforce my decisions. And now..." He broke off, gently pulling his hand free. "Now the Force has bound me to a desire contrary to the Code I follow." He turned his head to the side, tracing the shape of his slave bracelet with sad eyes. "It should have offended me to seal the clasp with my own hands, to accept his belief in his ownership of my body. I should have felt something...other than desire." He shuddered.

"Qui-Gon-" Ket'al began, but as he spoke, the door slid open and Daro burst through, eyes wide.

"Well, now. I heard there were clothes delivered. Not like any of them will fit me, but it's not every day there are new things to look at around here." His eyes flickered over Qui-Gon, taking note of the new pants, and a smirk lit his face. "All kinds of new things to look at," he purred.

"Daro," Ket'al said, exasperated.

"Those are very flattering," Daro breathed, ignoring Ket'al. Qui-Gon smiled, almost as though he couldn't quite help himself, and Daro grinned.

"It's a good thing you weren't interested in sleep tonight." Ket'al rose, clasping Qui-Gon's shoulder reassuringly, and began to pick through the clothes. "Now let's find you something to wear."

A soft beeping sound filled the room, gradually growing louder. Qui-Gon's face turned serious as he rose to answer the comlink. His hand hovered over the controls, and a muscle twitched in his cheek as he answered the call. "Yes, my lord?"

"Come to me on the lower terrace. The guard will bring you." Kenobi's voice was full of careless authority. Ket'al sighed with a pang of wistful remembrance; he'd responded many nights to such a summons, and those evenings had been among the most pleasurable of his young life.

"Understood." Qui-Gon stood motionless, his body so tight he might snap if touched.

"Here, Qui-Gon." Daro held out his choices, looking to Ket'al for approval, and Ket'al confirmed his taste with a quick nod. "Wear these. They suit you."

The Jedi did not speak, and Ket'al gave Daro a little shove toward the door, taking the shirt and pants from his hand. Daro stepped aside nimbly and went to Qui-Gon, wrapping his arms around Qui-Gon without hesitation. He pressed his cheek against the broad back. "It gets easier," he said quietly. "Allow yourself to give and receive pleasure freely, and you won't be so unhappy." As Qui-Gon began to turn, Daro disengaged and slipped away, leaving both men staring after him.

"I must go," Ket'al said, handing the selected items to his friend. "His words were true, you know."

"I know." Qui-Gon met Ket'al's eyes. "Thank you, my friend."

Ket'al inclined his head, inexplicably saddened, and keyed open the door. The guard was waiting in the hallway, and Ket'al blindly made his way past, guided by need. Only a short time remained until the sun would rise, but his soul felt cold, and he knew where he might seek warmth.

He wandered into the room shared by Mathius and Leyran, shedding clothes as he went. Faint daylight touched the edges of the bed as he lifted the covers and slid next to Mathius, pressing the length of his body to the hard heat of the other man.

Mathius stirred, and his arms lifted, encircling Ket'al. He opened his eyes with a sleepy smile, but it turned quizzical when he saw the expression on Ket'al's face, and in his eyes.

"I'm sorry to wake you," his friend whispered, but Mathius caught his lips in a gentle kiss.

"Shh," he said, and with hands and tongue and soft kisses, he offered the quiet comfort of bliss.

**

"No bodyguard," Obi-Wan said firmly, cutting off Valorum's protests. "The perimeter shields are on, and we will be well within the fortress grounds."

"You'll be out of range of any holoimagers; no one will be able to monitor you. This is foolishness! Those shields did not prevent the previous attempt on Anakin's life, and they won't stop someone from getting to you."

Valorum's stern warning was met by mild eyes and an indulgent smile.

"I'll be safe enough."

"Your mind won't be on your safety." The words were sharp.

Obi-Wan sighed. "That's the point, Valorum. I'm tired of thinking. It's time for me to do what I should have done in the beginning."

"This isn't what you had planned for the Jedi in the beginning," Valorum reminded him.

"Plans change." Kenobi fastened his tunic, wincing slightly as he did so. He concealed a slender knife in a leather sheath designed into his tunic. As he moved out into the hallway, Valorum kept pace with him, matching his purposeful stride with long, graceful steps. "Are you planning to be my bodyguard now?" Obi-Wan asked, amused.

"I'll see you safely to the terrace," Valorum answered stubbornly, glaring at the Regent. Kenobi hid his smile, and the pair progressed the rest of the way in silence.

Kenobi knew Jinn was waiting for him even before he descended the stairs to the lower terrace. Their fledgling bond had begun to hum with the resonance of nearness. Fighting the urge to clamp down on the thin threads of emotions he was bleeding into the link, Obi-Wan reached out tentatively and encountered apprehension, overlaid by calm. He stopped Valorum with an outstretched hand. "Far enough, Chancellor. From here, I go alone."

"Yes, Excellency. But it is no less foolish than it was a few moments ago." Stubbornly, Valorum folded his arms across his chest and returned Obi-Wan's scowl without flinching.

"Point taken, Valorum. Now go away." Curt, and equally stubborn.

"Yes, Excellency." With just a faint hint of mockery, Valorum bowed and ascended the steps into the fortress.

Obi-Wan continued down the curving stone steps, drawn by the strange lure of the bond. He knew he could find Jinn in a crowd with little effort, and wondered if the reverse was true. Such musings were dangerous; he had not wanted the bond, but the fact remained that it existed. He thought that perhaps it was time to see what value it might have to him. The Force had created their link for a reason, and he was ready for answers.

He stepped out onto the terrace and stopped short, staring. Gone were Qui-Gon's torn and ragged Jedi robes. The man wore a midnight blue vest, open in the front and descending in a V to the top of his black silk trousers. His feet were bare. The Jedi moved fluidly the moment he saw the Regent, dropping to one knee as if it had always been his habit, lowering his gaze. Kenobi watched with pleasure as Qui-Gon's hair fanned smoothly across his broad shoulders, silver and brown against blue.

"Nicely done," Kenobi said, crossing his arms across his chest. "You've obviously learned your lessons well. The slaves of my seraglio are able teachers."

Qui-Gon raised his head, and his eyes were placid blue as he answered, "I have done as you required to ensure the safety of the boy, Daro. Now will you lift that threat from me?"

"I'm not satisfied of your obedience. Yet. Stand up." Qui-Gon rose immediately, and Kenobi allowed himself the luxury of looking at every inch, every part of the other man. From somewhere deep within, a tendril of desire curled around his judgment as he quashed the urge to remove the clothing and see the rest of Jinn's body. The frank examination raised the specter of unease in their bond, and one corner of Obi-Wan's mouth quirked up in a smile. "Walk with me."

"Where are we going?" Qui-Gon asked immediately.

"There are still lessons left to learn, Jedi. And one of them will involve teaching you to hold your tongue unless you have my permission to ask questions." The rebuke was immediate, quiet, absolute, and Qui-Gon lowered his head.

"Yes, my lord."

Kenobi stood a moment longer, considering the paradox. Jinn was ill at ease, but it was not because of the role he played, or the fact of the submission demanded of him. Qui-Gon wore a mantle of stillness on the outside, and were it not for the bond, Obi-Wan would not have known how deeply the man was troubled. It intrigued him.

He moved off to the last flight of stairs, casting a wary eye at the rumbling sky overhead. Jinn followed three paces behind, as was customary. He stopped immediately and made an impatient sound. "When we are alone, you may walk beside me." A pause, and Qui-Gon took the short step necessary to bring him to Obi-Wan's side. Together, they continued into the garden at the fringes of the fortress wall, and down a powdery dirt path toward the sound of flowing water. Tension throbbed between them, made of equal parts desire and disquiet.

The sky turned thick and dark as storm clouds gathered, rolled over, and gathered again. Kenobi pushed his way through dense underbrush, remembering a time when no vegetation of any kind could be found growing on Taganor. He glanced sideways at Jinn, whose sharp eyes were taking in every detail, imprinting a mental map of the terrain for future reference.

"You're wondering why I've taken the chance, leaving the palace alone with you," Kenobi said, holding aside a wiry branch.

"I'm sure there are perimeter shields," Jinn answered. "You're not a fool."

"No," Obi-Wan agreed amicably. "This is as far as we go." He stopped at the edge of a small, oval pool, fed by a rush of water bubbling over low rocks. "If you're going to run, do it now. Save me the trouble of getting undressed."

Jinn turned to look at him, and the connection between them sang suddenly, ringing with a surge of jumbled emotions crowding and pushing to be felt, to be understood. Qui-Gon took two steps backward, his footing secure on a flat stone.

Qui-Gon's hands rose to the clasp at his waist, and he loosened the vest with a flick of his fingers. It fluttered open as with a sensuous roll of his shoulders, he shrugged it off, and it fell to the green carpet below with a faint whisper of sound. His hands brushed across his nipples, tracing the rock-hard muscles of his chest before dipping smoothly into the waistband of his pants, palms curving over his hips and pushing the fabric away. The trousers puddled around his ankles as he stepped out and away, dropping gracefully again to one knee.

But this time, his eyes were fixed on Kenobi's face, and there was a spark there, a tiny light of promise. "I will not run."

Obi-Wan caught himself staring into those eyes, heard the ragged sound of his own breathing. He motioned with one hand, and Qui-Gon stood before him, hands working the fastenings of his tunic, pushing it open. Large hands touched him, palms brushing like rough silk down his sides, lingering tenderly over the day-old wound. Energy pulsed in those hands, flowing into him, sweeping through his body. He shuddered, reaching up to bury his hand impatiently in the mass of soft hair, wrapping his fingers around the hidden nape.

One unspoken command, and Qui-Gon obeyed. His lips parted and were met with the seductive explorations of the Regent's mouth. Obi-Wan tugged at the corner of the compliant lips with a thumb, persuading them to open further, seducing his tongue into a sultry battle of give and take. Deeper still, further into the taste and territory that was Qui-Gon Jinn, and Obi-Wan felt his inhibitions crack, give way beneath the assault of the other man's reluctant passion. The dictates of The Force and the purpose of the unwanted bond no longer mattered; Jinn was his to take, and he would not wait another day.

The tunic tumbled unnoticed to the ground, and Qui-Gon pressed closer, hands seeking warmth and hardness. Obi-Wan broke away from the kiss and opened his eyes, watching with greedy satisfaction as Qui-Gon's eyes darkened with hunger. Their gazes locked, held, as time slowed to immobility and the universe narrowed to the quivering sweep of hands over sensitive skin, the violent presence of unchecked lust, the rapturous victory of surrender. Fingers worked the fastenings of his trousers, freeing his erection, and circling, teasing, stroking with newly-born skill.

Lips whispered sweet torture as they pressed against his chest, tracing old scars, and Kenobi struggled against the urge to guide their path. Down, over each brown nipple, circling wetly, savoring the taste and tang of skin with the firm point of a tongue. Obi-Wan hissed his approval, but the mouth was skimming lower now, biting a straight line to the tip of his heavy cock. Large hands cupped his buttocks to hold him in place as Qui-Gon's mouth engulfed him, sucking, swirling, inexorable.

His balls tightened in response to fingers and tongue, aching for release. He was too close...control could not be lost so early. He was tempted to fall across the precipice of climax, but Obi-Wan wrenched his body back from the edge, pushing Qui-Gon away. Startled, his slave looked up at him, eyes shining with arousal, lips swollen and wet. Obi-Wan took Qui-Gon's face in his hands, capturing that mouth, forcing his way in, sure of his acceptance this time. Qui-Gon opened to him willingly, and a low moan of primal need escaped into Obi-Wan's kiss, swallowed quickly by their gasps and sounds of pleasure.

In seconds, Obi-Wan stripped away his trousers and boots and grinned at Qui-Gon, whose eyes narrowed only a fraction. "Can you swim?" the Regent asked, stretching his slender body, displaying the fine symmetry of sleek muscle, deliberately drawing Qui-Gon's eyes to his jutting shaft.

"Yes," Qui-Gon grated out, as Obi-Wan dove into the water, feeling the heat of the indigo eyes on his skin as he pushed through the cool depths, exhilarated. He broke the surface near the opposite bank of the pool and stood. Water sluiced off his body, and he touched himself lazily, watching Qui-Gon.

Waiting.

*****  
Qui-Gon found himself riveted to the sight of Obi-Wan's slim, muscular body, to the fingers trailing leisurely across his nipples, nudging them to dark peaks by the faintest touch. There was more than a command of obedience in the eyes that watched him, in the body that invited him; there was a need, a challenge waiting to be satisfied.

He arched in the air as his body sought the water, cleaving the cool surface with a tiny splash. He stroked powerfully through the pool, eyes closed, finding his way across the oasis by following the wavering threads of the raw bond. He rose from the water, pushing his hair back, and found himself inches away from the Regent, whose hands were on him, whose mouth was warming him, and his own hands traced erratic patterns, clutching and grasping for control.

Their bodies pressed and melted together, each seeking closer contact. Surges of Force-energy coiled about them, invisible, and Qui-Gon gasped at the power of it, the sheer *perfection* of the realm unfolding around and inside them. He heard Obi-Wan's low, dark moan echoed in that place, wrapped his arms around the sound and the vessel that contained those sounds he most wanted to hear. They grappled for a moment, until he lifted Obi-Wan from the water, settled him on top of slick, warm rocks, regarding him hotly from beneath lowered lashes.

Obi-Wan leaned back, insolent and unconquered. Qui-Gon parted his thighs with splayed fingers, tugging him roughly forward, and descended into passion, shattering the last, vaguely held notions of control and duty.

Qui-Gon nuzzled against the cluster of dark reddish curls, breathing in the mingled scents he found there, closing his eyes as he kissed the pale, soft joint of hip and leg. Obi-Wan writhed, pushing his hips forward, inviting more from him, body arched and taut beneath his hands. He moved down the length of the hard-velvet cock, tongue twisting and teasing, tracing the ridges and finding the vulnerable points. Obi-Wan's eyes burned on his skin, green-amber points of fire, as the rhythm found him and snapped into place. The Force spoke to his body, guiding him, and the deepest, hidden parts of his soul blossomed, reached out, connected with the white-hot center of Obi-Wan's soul.

Following his feelings, he raised his head and accepted the ravaging kiss, vaulted forward onto the rock and held himself over Kenobi's body, trembling, unable to breathe, to think. Obi-Wan pulled at him, rolled them to the side, marking his skin with teeth and touch. A hand closed around Qui-Gon's engorged shaft, stroking quickly, and fingers pushed into the tightness below and between, stretching and preparing him. It was not the first time he'd been touched so intimately, but the sensation drove him to the verge of madness as slivers of ecstasy cut through him, magnified by the emotions surging through the bond.

Powerful and predatory, Obi-Wan swung himself over Qui-Gon, spreading his thighs and driving between them, entering him with one long, sweet, deep thrust, and Qui-Gon breathed against the mingled pain as his body stretched to welcome the heat that filled him. Obi-Wan devoured his mouth and matched the strokes of his hand to the fast strokes of his cock. Qui-Gon cried out as a deep thrust touched something inside him, sending joy spiraling through his body.

Qui-Gon reached for the Force, pulled it to him without effort, thinking with the last of his conscious will that this was what the Force commanded, that it was what must be. He recognized his surrender as it rushed through his body, as the sounds bled forth from his throat, and he came, shuddering with triumph and defeat, still enraptured by those blazing eyes. Obi-Wan's climax came swiftly, and he shook with the magnitude of it as he came hard and hot inside Qui-Gon's body.

Layers of understanding opened to Qui-Gon, and with stunning, bittersweet finality, knowledge crashed through every barrier, tasting of regret and reluctance, resonating clear and pure between them.

It was finished; the bond was fully formed.

*********  
Clouds drifted across the sky above the valley, tinting the water with shadows and slanting the patterns of dappled light filtering through the trees. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon lay stretched out in the grass, side by side, not quite touching. The heat from each man's body shimmered in the air, palpable and smoky.

"You knew this would happen," Qui-Gon said quietly, testing the truth of his statement with a gentle push against the bond. The answer came back even before Obi-Wan spoke - resignation, acceptance.

"It was inevitable that the bond would be completed. It exists; there was no reason to believe it would fade if I delayed taking my pleasure from you."

Qui-Gon shivered at the low rich words, spoken so carelessly. "Yet it means nothing to you."

Long moments passed before the answer came, softly, between the secrets hidden by his silence. "It changes nothing."

"You were curious to know what the bond would mean," Qui-Gon said, giving voice to what he sensed within the link between them. "You wanted to know...if your feelings would change."

"Don't think to read me too easily, Jedi." Obi-Wan rolled on his side. Danger sparkled in his eyes. "I was curious, yes. The formation of the bond was a surprise to me, and I don't react well to things I can't control. But I have no feelings for you. I merely desire you. Nothing more."

"The bond must have meaning," Qui-Gon answered, puzzled. "There has to be a purpose for it...it is the will of the Force." Kenobi touched him lightly on the cheek, and Qui-Gon realized he was signaling his own feelings just as clearly as those he was reading from his lover. He flushed with the knowledge, and he sought control, cutting off his feelings as tightly as possible.

Kenobi drew in his breath sharply, and his body tensed. "I can still feel what you feel," he said, frowning. "But it's not as pronounced as it was a moment ago."

"Fortunately, you can't hear what I'm thinking," Qui-Gon answered dryly.

Kenobi answered him with an impatient, quicksilver grin. "Only telepaths can form telepathic Force-bonds," he said knowingly.

Qui-Gon directed a sharp look in his direction. "That's true...but how would you know such a thing?" Immediately, the waves of sensation flowing through to him from Kenobi were choked off, narrowed to a tiny pinpoint of unease and suspicion.

"Two can play at this," Obi-Wan said softly as his shields slammed into place between them. Emotions thrummed at the edges of the bond, suppressed, like percussive thunder in the distance. Their eyes met, held; neither spoke, but Qui-Gon could read the other man's thirst to possess him, could taste it in the back of his throat, because it was his own.

Obi-Wan leaned forward, touching his lips to the corner of Qui-Gon's mouth. Qui-Gon arched into the caress, head thrown back, yielding to the ever-insistent pressure of the kiss, eyes closed.

Then the warmth of Obi-Wan's mouth retreated, and he settled back on the moist grass. Qui-Gon sighed at the absence of his touch. They lay quietly together, listening to the crackle of storms in the distance.


	8. Chaos Descending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan follows his heart. The Sith arrive.

Valorum was not a man to waste time on problems he could not directly solve. It had not taken long to realize that the relationship forming between his Regent and the captured Jedi was one he would not be able to influence. Thus he had remained silent on the subject since Obi-Wan had returned from the river. The difference was plain for even the most casual observer to see; the Jedi had submitted. His posture reflected the result of the terrible war between his pride and his desire. And Obi-Wan...there was a closed, subdued look in his eyes that worried Valorum immensely.

In the hours since their return, Jinn had been exiled to the seraglio, and Kenobi had been pushing himself through a rigorous kata, punishing his body in a way Valorum had not witnessed for many years. Tension defined every line of Kenobi's body, lending a strained desperation to his movements.

Valorum perched on the edge of a training rig and made himself as comfortable as possible while he watched the Regent perform the strange, primitive airborne dance; Obi-Wan had a marked preference for leaps and spins.

Three leaps, a twist in the air, an outstretched hand falling softly to Kenobi's side. It had been the Regent's favorite exercise as a child, and he had excelled at it as he had at every other task he was given. The Regent had always sworn by the disassociation that could come from hard exercise, the mind-numbing quality of being one with the Force. This time, however, Valorum could see he was not succeeding. Obi-Wan's movements were becoming faster, spinning almost out of control.

Obi-Wan settled to the ground without noise, feet touching the mat lightly like some kind of stealthy winged predator, and lifted his hand, staring at it. "Look, my friend," he breathed, extending his palm, all titles and pretense dropping away between them for a moment. "Even the calluses are wearing away now." He raised sad eyes to his Chancellor, who nodded without speaking.

It seemed fitting, in a way. Time had eroded all other signs, leaving nothing behind but memory. And even that could be corrupted.

As suddenly as the memory had come, it passed, and Kenobi resumed the kata with a vengeance. Patiently, Valorum waited for Obi-Wan to tire, to stop, but his stoic demeanor brought only a hard smile from the Regent.

"Another lecture, Valorum?" Kenobi teased as he somersaulted through the air in the midst of a complicated series of maneuvers. "Going to scold me for going out without my chaperones?"

"Not tonight," Valorum said. Something in his voice brought Obi-Wan up short.

He halted his midair turn and twisted neatly, tumbling out of the vault to stand before Valorum, breathing heavily. A frown creased his features. "What do you have to tell me?" he asked, wiping sweat from his forehead with an impatient hand.

"The Sith will arrive shortly after sunrise." Valorum paused to let the information have its effect, then went on. "We should speak about the ramifications of your...relationship...with the Jedi. And about Xanatos."

"What about Xanatos?" Obi-Wan's head rose, eyes questioning. "Has something happened?"

Valorum caught himself before his surprise could register fully in his expression. "No, no," he said hastily. "I've just noticed something that might be of importance, and it can't wait any longer." Obi-Wan made an impatient gesture, so Valorum continued. "There's only a small amount of information available in the database regarding Xanatos. When he was purchased, he wore no collar; he seemed to be an ordinary slave, no different than the thousands of others. Yet, when he was first sold into the hands of a slaver, he was made to wear a Force-inhibiting device."

"Your point?" Obi-Wan gazed at him, eyes placid, curious. Suddenly, Valorum understood.

"You *knew*?" he asked incredulously.

"Not precisely, not in the way you mean." Obi-Wan reached past Valorum for his towel. "Who do you think healed me the night Anakin was attacked? I lacked the strength to do it myself." Obi-Wan buried his face in the towel, rubbing briskly before raising his face again. Valorum was startled by the emotion glowing in his eyes. "He revealed his abilities to me at the risk of his own life. I owe him some semblance of privacy in return."

"There's something about this that isn't right," Valorum persisted. "Why was a Force-dampener required when he belonged to his first master, but not when he came to us? No young slave becomes so compliant, so obedient. It isn't natural."

"Perhaps not," Obi-Wan agreed. "But you have started to see conspiracy behind every action, or inaction. Coming here was certainly a less disagreeable fate than he might have met in the mines of Bandomeer, or any of a thousand other Sith-spawned places. Perhaps he just accepted his fate."

"You know that isn't very likely." Valorum folded his arms in his classic posture of protest and waited for Obi-Wan to answer. When no answer was forthcoming, he added, "I don't want to believe it either. But there is a possibility-"

"No." Obi-Wan threw the towel aside. "He is not the assassin we seek. I'm sure of it."

"You can't afford that kind of certainty," Valorum said softly. "None of us can. *Not with what's at stake here!*"

It was the first time Valorum had dared to remind the Regent of his duty, and he struggled not to flinch as stormy hazel eyes caught his, changing color rapidly, taking on the gray-green of an angry sea. "You have no right," Obi-Wan said sharply. "You have nothing to lose."

"If you die, I lose more than you might imagine," Valorum retorted immediately. Impasse, once again. Rather than let the moment stretch into quiet anger, he went on. "And there is the matter of the Jedi..."

"We are bonded," Obi-Wan said, without emotion, eyes never leaving Valorum's.

The Chancellor blinked, felt his mind shifting gears to accommodate the new information. "What...what did you say?"

"I always supposed that if I were to bond, I would feel more," Obi-Wan said flatly. "This...this is something completely alien to me. The Force has caused this, and I have no idea why." Obi-Wan's fingers twisted together. "The bond pulls at me constantly, Valorum. I feel as though I am never alone, even inside my own mind. There is nothing that is my own any longer, except..."

"Except your duty," Valorum finished for him.

Amusement flashed in Obi-Wan's eyes. "That's not precisely what I was thinking of."

"I know who you were thinking of." Valorum rose, paced a few steps across the edge of the practice mat. "Does Xanatos know yet?"

"No. I've called for him to meet me here." The heaviness in Kenobi's voice was painful to hear. "I'm trapped," he said, shaking his head ruefully. "I've always trusted the Force, but now...this is beyond my understanding. It's shaping my future without my consent."

"You will find a way to make sense of it." Valorum said the words without conviction. That fact was not lost on Obi-Wan, whose expression became thoughtful.

"And if I can't? What then? I'm tied to a man I barely know without the slightest idea why. I want him, Valorum. But it's not-" He broke off, setting his jaw stubbornly. "I can't risk making him a part of what we have undertaken here."

"Don't be so quick to dismiss this. As I recall, you were certain that the Jedi should not be killed," Valorum pointed out. "You said you had a purpose for him. Perhaps the Force was guiding you, even then."

"Perhaps." Kenobi smiled then, a rare smile, full of mischief. "Are you ever out of possibilities and perhapses, Chancellor Valorum?"

"Never, Excellency." Valorum returned the brilliant smile, feeling a little less apprehensive.

"You sent for me, my lord?" A voice from the other end of the mat drew their attention. Xanatos knelt at the far edge of the mat, head bowed only as far as was barely permissible, black hair falling over his face.

"I did indeed." Obi-Wan rose from the mat with a last reassuring glance at Valorum. "You may leave us, Chancellor."

"Good night, Excellency." Valorum hesitated in the doorway, watching as the two young men faced one another, sighing at the electricity generated by a simple look passing between them.

It would be a long night for them all.

**********

Obi-Wan turned to look at Xanatos and knew nothing had changed. It still burned between them; a fine filament of lust, of need, so strong and clear that Obi-Wan wondered how he could have desired any other with such intensity. He pushed the thought of Jinn from his mind. It was his right, to do with his slaves as he pleased, to conquer them in any way he chose. Jinn must be no different. Deliberately, he closed off the bond, sensing and disregarding Jinn's curiosity and discomfort. He could not be responsible for that confusion. There were other things to attend to.

"Spar with me," he offered, striding to the opposite wall as Xanatos rose from the ground. He took two staffs from the wall, lightweight, made of a metallic alloy.

"As you wish, my lord." Xan's pleasure shone through in every way; the light in his eyes, the tiny grin, the sudden excitement in his voice.

Obi-Wan held out the staff, but as Xanatos moved forward to claim it, he halted the other man with a quick gesture. "Not that way."

Understanding flashed across Xanatos' features, followed by a quick succession of other emotions - fear, worry, indecision, regret. Obi-Wan waved them off, stepping closer, lowering his voice. "You shared your secret," he said softly. "I will not press for answers. Not yet."

Xan nodded, reaching out with one hand. The staff wobbled uncertainly in the Regent's loose grip, then shot out of his hand, landing securely in Xan's grasp. Kenobi flew at him, striking quickly, and found his first blow solidly blocked. They grinned at one another through crossed staffs, just as Xanatos shoved Obi-Wan away.

Quick strikes, each blocked by an equally quick countermeasure. The metal rods became a blur as the two graceful opponents circled and whirled across the mats, tapping and retreating, each attempting to land a blow which would result in an unquestioned win. Faster and faster, and suddenly, the match of wills and strength became a dance of balance and strength, a dance which had its roots in antiquity, a pattern Obi-Wan had known since he was a child...

Xanatos was caught off balance suddenly as the Regent landed a sudden blow to his chin, followed by a quick strike to his midsection. Kenobi knocked his staff away and swept it aside, landing a hard blow to Xan's back, driving him to the ground.

"I'm...out of practice," Xan huffed, rolling to one side on the mat, looking up at Obi-Wan with a mixture of awe and wariness.

Obi-Wan tossed his staff aside and extended a hand to his opponent, lifting him from the ground. "Were you a Jedi?" he asked quietly, without letting go of the hand clasped in his own.

"Yes." Said without fear, without apology. Blue eyes challenged him to take the step he must take by law, a step both men knew he would never take.

"I have had enough of Jedi," Obi-Wan said wearily, stepping back. His fingers slid between Xan's, hesitant to break that small point of contact, until finally they were separated. He looked at the other man appraisingly. "You were good," he acknowledged.

"It has been too long..." Xan bowed his head, avoiding Obi-Wan's eyes. "I cannot remember most of what I learned."

"You know enough." Obi-Wan stepped closer, lifting Xan's chin with his fingers, soothing the darkening bruise he'd inflicted with the staff. "In another life, you would not be a slave."

"I am not unhappy." Xan's chin rose higher.

"But there are things about your servitude you find difficult to bear," Obi-Wan noted quietly. "You are my unquestioned favorite now, but it was not always so. And still, I summon others to my bed."

"It is the way of things. You have many to choose from," Xanatos said, tilting his face into Obi-Wan's touch, closing his eyes as a thumb drew a gentle line across his lips.

"And if I were to care for one such man?" The question took Xan by surprise, bringing a flush to his face that heated his skin and betrayed his deep feelings on the matter.

"You mean the Jedi." At Obi-Wan's curt nod, Xan continued, "My master is wise. You would not...In all things, you are deliberate. In this you will be, as well. And it is possible that the Jedi will relent, and agree to work in your service."

"He is not the kind of man who relents, Xan." Wry humor colored his tone. "I had hoped that time would change his mind, but it's clear now. He will serve me as the others do, and under duress. That's the way it will be."

"Then...you-?" Xanatos stopped, waited, leaving the question unfinished.

Obi-Wan studied the expression of the man before him, which changed so often and with such mercurial grace. He did not relish the prospect of seeing hurt in those eyes; the thought of it gave him pause.

"Yes." There was no need to say the words aloud.

All color drained from Xan's face as he searched for words. "I thought perhaps..." He stepped back, stumbling away, falling to one knee. "I had hoped he would serve you in another way." Xan raised his pale countenance, eyes numb and hollow, all light eclipsed by grief. He rose to his feet rapidly and turned to go, but Obi-Wan was there, blocking the way.

"Why should this bother you so?" he asked harshly, taking hold of Xan's arms and turning his slave roughly to him. Xan turned his face away.

"I am my master's property, to do with as he pleases." Empty words, frail and brittle, and laced with a depth of agony that cut into Obi-Wan's soul.

Obi-Wan caught Xan's face between his hands, cradling it. "You are much more than my property," he said, touching his lips to Xan's, warming them with his breath.

"I am nothing." Xan moved to twist away, but he was restrained, held in place by a strength he could not conquer. "What I wish to be to you, I cannot be."

A tightness began in Obi-Wan's chest, a strangled, half-formed feeling. "You have only to ask for what you wish." He ran his hand through the thick black hair, curving his fingers around the nape of Xan's neck, producing a shiver beneath his possessive touch.

"You cannot give me what I most want, my master." Xan's fingers traced the curve of his jaw, eloquent in their communication of longing.

Xan's hollow sadness tore through Obi-Wan, reaching into his heart and tugging free the truth without mercy. He felt the words come unbidden, and he let them fall. "I am a slave as much as you, Xan, and in as many ways." Disbelief met his words, but he continued, speaking quietly, calming the roaring in his blood. "I serve many masters. You are bound by your duty, and by your passion, as am I."

"I am bound by my heart," Xan said, trading truth for truth.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment, stroking the back of Xan's neck gently. Finally, he raised his head, finding and falling into the tormented depths of Xan's eyes. "As am I," he said hoarsely.

"Then you...you should call for him..." Xan made a half-hearted attempt to push Obi-Wan away, but he was held fast.

"My heart is not bound to the Jedi." The tightness in his chest released, and he allowed the emotion to become what it wished to be, to enfold him, to cushion the sound of his soul shattering into pieces, one fragile bit at a time. Stunned, Xan sought confirmation in his eyes, and Obi-Wan opened to him, hiding nothing.

Strong hands pulled the dark head down, and Obi-Wan captured Xan's mouth with his own, turning the taste of bitter regret into the sweet savor of desire. He knew every corner of that pleasing space, and he coaxed forth Xan's tongue, teasing it into a sensuous war of thrust and retreat until both men gasped for air.

Xan settled his forehead into the curve of Obi-Wan's shoulder with a shuddering sigh. The moisture of Xan's silent tears cooled on Obi-Wan's skin as he wrapped his arms around Xan, and they stood motionless together, quiet inside the moment.

**********

Sunrise came shrouded in thick clouds and abysmally gray skies. It seemed fitting to Obi-Wan that the Sith should choose this time to make their appearance. They had made Taganor a world of shadows, and now they had come, finally, to inspect their creation.

Kenobi stood at the back edge of the landing platform, watching the sky and waiting. The ship was close; it would not be long. It had not been possible to keep the Empire out forever, despite his best efforts. Stopping the Council from talking with the representative of the Emperor would accomplish nothing, for they were like treacherous insects, skittering and scurrying in the places where they were least likely to be seen. Intrigue whispered around him, like vague stirrings of the wind, and he felt the tenuous flutters of the Force, warning him.

Valorum's doubts about his safety, and the causes behind the danger, were both prudent and shrewd. Privately, Kenobi had his own doubts as to who would rule when the Sith completed their business. So close to falling apart, and yet, he must find a way to keep the whole together...

Slight movement behind him drew his attention as Valorum slipped quietly into place next to him, a place the Chancellor had inhabited for many years, like a ghost of honor at his side. He favored the man with a brief smile, one that was not returned. Instead, Valorum turned to him with a serious expression.

"You look as though you haven't slept in a cycle, Valorum." Obi-Wan grasped his advisor's arm, asking a question without words.

"Unfortunately, it's too late to remedy that situation," Valorum answered, directing his gaze skyward for a moment before patting the Regent's fingers. It was awkwardly comforting, and too familiar, and Kenobi tightened his grip in acknowledgment for a fraction of a second before withdrawing his hand. "The Council is headed this way. I don't think they were at all pleased to be forced to be present for this...historic occasion."

Kenobi chuckled. "And Anakin?"

"Also on his way up. I saw him at the lower landing, shouting at one of his guards." Valorum's voice dropped to a confidential hush. "The boy grows more irritable by the day. Confining him this way has had an ill effect on him."

"If it saves his life, I don't care how ill-tempered he becomes."

"Agreed," Valorum nodded. A hint of a smile finally appeared on his face. "He was already rather difficult. One must listen quite closely in order to tell the difference."

Obi-Wan looked at Valorum, startled and amused. "Humor, Chancellor? I don't believe it."

Voices echoed down the wide hallways in their direction, and a crowd tumbled out into the open space - Council members, guards, and assorted personnel. The sudden riot of noise and movement stripped away the momentary peace the two men had enjoyed. Kenobi turned slightly to meet the approaching Council, led by the grim and tightlipped Mace Windu.

"How far away are they?" Windu asked Valorum, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robe nervously.

"They are on approach; we have given them clearance to land. They'll arrive any moment." Valorum turned away and began to scan the sky.

Windu dropped his gaze to Obi-Wan. "You have not done all you could do to make this a successful inspection." The euphemism made Kenobi smile once again, which brought an equivalent frown to Windu's face. "This is a crucial step in our development as a power within the Empire, Excellency! I would think-"

"Please, don't," Obi-Wan interjected tiredly. "Don't think. Don't express your opinions to the Sith. And most of all, don't interfere in the course of things."

"I have an obligation to the heir, and I will carry out my duty." Windu's anger permeated his words, seeping through like a foul toxin. Obi-Wan could not fail to miss the double meaning in the statement.

"I know where your duty lies, Ambassador. As do all here, I've no doubt." Shuffling noises from the others confirmed that his barb had hit the mark.

"Your charge has arrived, Excellency." Ki-Adi was watching Anakin approach, flanked by his contingent of protectors. "None too happy."

"There's little to be pleased about this day." Councilor Gallia's soft voice lent gravity to the moment, a restatement of inescapable truth.

Anakin pulled up next to the group, glowering at them as they bowed. Obi-Wan stretched out a welcoming arm and gathered the boy in, pushing him slightly ahead of the rest of the party. "Your place is in front, Anakin. They are coming to meet you, after all."

"This is my world," Anakin said heedlessly, grounded only in his pride of ownership. He looked up at Kenobi plaintively. "I want you to be proud of me, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan exchanged glances with Valorum over the boy's head. "I'm sure you will conduct yourself well, Highness," Obi-Wan murmured.

Engines sounded above, growing louder as the dark craft appeared near the thick line of trees encircling the fortress, and the invisible perimeter shield sparkled into visibility for a moment as it was deactivated. Obi-Wan attempted to focus on the sleek lines of the craft, to appreciate the engineering of it, but he was quickly preoccupied by the strong, sudden sensation of Darkness washing over him.

Anakin shrank back against his hip, gasping. "Don't be afraid, Anakin. You must be strong now. Remember what I've taught you."

Wordlessly, the boy groped for the Force; Kenobi could feel him grappling for control, pulling energy to him, blanketing himself with the small bit of skill he possessed. "Good," Obi-Wan whispered, reaching for a bit of that same control. The power of the Dark Side emanated strongly from within the ship; it had been years since he had felt anything similar. Not since he was called before the Emperor to withstand his inspection, to be determined suitable to rule Taganor...the memory made him shiver with repressed revulsion.

"Shall I send the honor guard to line the ramp?" Valorum asked thoughtfully, eyes fixed on Obi-Wan's face.

Obi-Wan shook off the feeling of suffocation with great effort. "No. They'll have their own cadre; ours will be in the way."

Valorum nodded slowly, and together they watched the ship settle onto the landing pad, a sleek metallic mass, the black of its exterior broken only by the silver symbols used to paint its name on the side.

"Reign of Terror," Valorum read aloud.

"Wonderful," Councilor Mundi hissed.

"Quiet, all of you." Kenobi's command silenced the group.

The ramp eased its way down, peeling open the hull and exposing the entryway, which was immediately filled by troops clad in black, carrying more weapons than any of them had seen since Taganor had been converted from a hive of smugglers and scum into a world free of visible blight. At the end of the column, a tall figure clad in the black robes of a Sith apprentice moved gracefully, hands tucked into his sleeves, his gait that of a man who was at his leisure and in no hurry.

Obi-Wan's brows drew together as he watched his guest approach. There was something so familiar, something...wrong...but before he could identify the creeping suspicion, the column had halted and the Sith Lord was before them.

Without hesitation, all but Anakin and Obi-Wan had dropped to one knee; Anakin and Obi-Wan bowed deeply, holding their position until the gesture of respect was returned.

"You will kneel also, Kenobi. Your position here is not equal to mine. Perhaps that has escaped your notice." The voice was rich and deep, brimming with self-satisfied amusement, and Obi-Wan recognized it instantly. He could not have forgotten it; the voice haunted him in his dreams. Obi-Wan dropped to one knee, folding his hands, and bowed his head with obeisance.

"Little Anakin Skywalker, heir to Taganor's throne." The Sith turned his attention to the boy. "Have I your welcome?"

"You have, Excellency. We are honored by your visit." Anakin mustered the correct decorum from somewhere within, and the Sith Lord nodded, pleased.

"Then I shall make myself at home here. There is much of interest to explore on Taganor. I suspect I shall not leave here before I have seen all there is to see...until I know all there is to know."

Obi-Wan raised his head and looked into the visage of hate. Dark eyes bored into him, promising many horrors in the battle of wills to come. Nevertheless, there was a duty to be done. He swallowed his pride and spoke the words.

"Welcome, Lord Chun."


	9. Edge of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sith Lord reveals his true agenda. Obi-Wan turns away from the light.

*Difficult to see, the future is. Much can change. Your destiny I cannot reveal - much sacrifice will there be in service to this Order.*

Qui-Gon Jinn reached back into memory until the ghost of his master's words returned to him, heavy and haunted with shades of meaning he had not understood when he was fifteen. He settled more comfortably on his knees, resting his hands on his thighs with the ease of constant habit, and closed his eyes to begin his meditation.

Like a flash of light against opaque glass, his master's words to him shone from the past. Yoda's ability to see the shadows of the future in the currents of the Force was legendary, and he had not been able to resist asking his master for a glimpse into his life.

*What will become of me, Master? Will I be a good Jedi?* Unaccountable sadness had filled Yoda's eyes as he gazed upon his padawan and made his pronouncement of sacrifice and service. Qui-Gon wondered fleetingly if his master had foreseen all that would occur, from the death of so many of their colleagues, to the destruction of the Jedi way of life. It had to have been an immense burden, one not easily borne.

Qui-Gon slowed his breathing, concentrating on each soft exhalation, on the warm puffs of air pushed out past his slightly parted lips. He inhaled deeply, pushing stray thoughts away, concentrating on a single strand of memory. He was not gifted with foresight, as Yoda was. It would take much more effort to reach into the Force for the answers...

Sacrifice. He had come to Taganor with hope that perhaps he could save himself, return to his duty. He’d turned in the direction of the brightest flame burning in that tropical jungle, had been drawn to the light of Obi-Wan Kenobi unerringly, though he had not been a conscious act. There was no logic to it, no sense of purpose. What did the Force want of him, that he must surrender his body and his freedom?

He shifted uncomfortably, made restless by the thought. It was odd to think of Kenobi as being the light in this darkness. The man was his captor, his master. He had given of himself because the Force demanded it, but when Kenobi touched him, his blood burned with desire far removed from the call of the Force in his soul. Even now, when he was closed off and alone, deliberately separated from Kenobi by the Regent's massive efforts at controlling the bond, he could feel the throbbing intensity of it between them, building in strength every moment.

Jedi should not be ruled by desire, but desire Kenobi he did. He felt his throat grow tight, his penis stir and harden as he tried to push away thoughts of Kenobi inside him, surging roughly toward climax, dragging him along with a scream at the edge of his voice. His body pulsed with need.

It was time to put such needs aside. *Much sacrifice will there be in service to this Order.* The answer was simple, so clear that he should have been able to see it long before. He was weak, and foolish, and he had allowed his passion to cloud his duty. Perhaps it was a test; the Force had bound him to a man he could never serve, had led him to believe he must submit, become something he was not meant to be.

To escape the trap, he must escape the world on which the trap was laid.

The thought brought an immediate wrongness, a sense of desperation and regret, and he clamped down on the emotions lest Kenobi become aware. He had been confused for so long, consumed with feelings alien to his being, that he was becoming a man he did not recognize. It was time to end that charade, to be as he had always been. His own man. A Jedi.

*Much sacrifice will there be.*

With the arrival of the Sith, there would be opportunity amidst chaos. He had felt the change in the Force, the shimmering decay of the light surrounding him. His life was not guaranteed now that they were on Taganor, and he could not rely on Kenobi to keep him safe. If he had a few moments alone with Valorum, the man could undoubtedly be manuevered into giving up the codes for the force shields surrounding the fortress. All he would need was the chance to disappear, and a little bit of luck.

He heard the door open behind him as if at a great distance, but he sensed no danger, only a strange sort of melancholy. "Xanatos," he said, without turning.

"Yes, Master."

"That word comes so easily to you," Qui-Gon noted, eyes still closed.

"It always did, even when I was free to use it as I chose," Xan answered. "A man may have many masters in a lifetime."

Qui-Gon said nothing, but a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "Very profound," he said wryly. "But do you not think that a man may be his own master?"

"I remember now why I used to dread reviewing my fatalism lessons with you each term," said his erstwhile padawan, chuckling.

"It wasn't your strongest subject," Qui-Gon agreed, feeling a familiar pang of loss for the things swept away by the Sith. He was quiet for a moment, listening to the birds in the garden just outside the window. A presence settled by his side without sound, and he listened for the familiar cues his senses remembered - the shift of his padawan's legs as his spine straightened and his body aligned in the proper posture; the soft sigh as he settled into the correct mindset; the regular, even breaths.

Together, teacher and student knelt in the morning sun, mirror images of past and future, lost in their own thoughts.

*****

"So this is Tatooine, remade." Bruck Chun, Lord of the Sith, strolled across the top terrace of the fortress, watching the erratic flight of birds across the green canopy below. "I would have preferred the desert." He turned slightly, waiting for Kenobi to catch up. "Where is the heir?"

"Safely back at his lessons," Obi-Wan said, drawing to a halt, arms loose at his sides. He felt a tension he'd nearly forgotten, a crawling, itching worry in the back of his skull that made the Dark Side seem like a living thing to him. Being so close to Chun brought back a flood of impressions, things he'd tried hard to bury and forget, experiences that would be better off never recalled.

"I see your security measures here are as backwards as the planet you come from." Chun pushed back the hood of his dark cloak as he stared up at a tiny slit in the wall, several meters above his head. He turned hard, questioning eyes to the Regent, who stood slightly behind him. "This technology is outdated. Why did you not send for more sophisticated equipment when Skywalker was attacked?"

Kenobi felt whispering, insidious hatred darkening his heart as he met Chun's gaze. "Taganor is a planet far from the usual trade routes. The Empire eradicated the spaceports here to ensure that there would be no further smuggling, no chance to obtain needed goods on the black market. We upgraded quickly because of the urgency of the situation. There was no time to send for a more current system - it takes weeks through official channels."

"Poor planning on your part. Had you been prepared, it's likely I would be praising your efficiency."

Obi-Wan snorted softly. "I cannot imagine the circumstance under which you might praise me, *Lord* Chun. Nor I you." He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Bruck's response.

Chun stepped close, bending his head to Kenobi's ear, so near that a tendril of his ice-white hair brushed like a phantom across Obi-Wan's cheek. "We are not equals in the training salle now, old friend," he whispered. "You would be wise to remember who is now the master. Lest I be forced to remind you in ways you might find...unpleasant."

Obi-Wan was still for a moment. It would not be hard to play the part of an intimidated supplicant, to think back to those days when he had first arrived on Coruscant, frightened and completely overwhelmed by the enormity of his task. Easy enough to fool the man grown from the foolish, evil boy Bruck had been not so many years ago.

But it was not his way any longer.

He turned his head until Chun's warm breath touched his face, close enough to kiss, or to kill, in the space of seconds. "We are not children any longer, Lord Chun. You are, at least, correct in that regard. You will find that I have not changed much since those days."

"Let us hope that isn't the case. For the sake of the heir, of course," Chun said softly, eyes flickering over Kenobi's face speculatively. "As I recall, the Emperor took pity on you and allowed you to train with the rest of us, though you weren't as strong in the Force as a true Sith apprentice must be." He straightened, hands disappearing into the sleeves of his robe. "And you were clumsy, as well."

Remarkable, Obi-Wan thought, how old enemies could strike to the heart of the least consequential thing, yet raise the specter of faded hurt in the space of mere seconds. Old wounds opened like flowers within his soul, memories of the strap falling across his bare shoulders and back as he lay prone on the floor, ten strikes for every cut sustained in the practice arena. And the voice of the training Master, echoing dully back at him through the pain and the blood, a word for each blow, a litany he repeated in place of screaming: *Focus. Endure. Magnify. Conquer. Dominate. Devour. Destroy...*

"No wonder you were not chosen to become a Sith." Chun's words were smooth, but a hint of smug satisfaction made them hollow.

"There was no time," Obi-Wan said mildly. "The Emperor had urgent need of me here, and it was not practical to delay my appointment until I had completed the training." He couldn't resist the smile that worked its way onto his lips. "I serve the Emperor in all things, Lord Chun. It was his will that I become Regent here, that I not become just another apprentice in his stable of Sith. I'm sure you can see the wisdom of his choice."

"Of course," Chun agreed, nodding, but his eyes sparkled with malicious envy for a moment before a mask of composure slammed into place. He began to walk slowly down the hall, and after a moment, Obi-Wan turned and accompanied him. "Naturally, the fact that you did not qualify to be an apprentice made you a less satisfactory choice to be Regent here, but I'm sure there were no other options. That's undoubtedly why you've lost control of this world."

"Taganor is as it always has been," Obi-Wan said quietly.

"Then perhaps we should have come much earlier," Chun suggested amiably. "You are not one of us, Kenobi. You were selected only because of your blood ties to the heir, and that hardly seems sensible to me. The Emperor is not infallible. He felt it was time to explore other possibilities, and he was correct - the Force guides him, as it guides us all. He had foreseen the attempt on Skywalker's life."

"Then he should have offered us assistance in preventing it," Obi-Wan snapped.

"I'll be sure to pass your opinion on to him at the next briefing," Chun answered, smiling.

Obi-Wan turned away for a moment, regaining the center of his control. He would not allow all his accomplishments to be undone by Bruck Chun - he was not an awkward child any longer. "What else would you like to inspect?" he asked.

Chun regarded him for a moment. "I will meet with your senior councilors this evening. At dinner, perhaps. A more relaxed atmosphere will encourage openness, don't you think? They should feel free to...consult ...with me during my visit."

"They have been instructed to offer you aid, as you require," Obi-Wan said. It would be a game the two of them would play; Obi-Wan attempting to maintain order among his people, while Bruck manipulated and coerced them into betraying him. There was some sort of agenda behind Chun's visit, but until he tipped his hand, Obi-Wan would have to be cautious, and smart. "Will there be anything else? I have business to attend to."

"I'm sure you do, but of course, the Emperor's business takes precedence." Chun stopped at the end of the hall, reaching out to touch the marbled edge of the large picture window overlooking the interior valley. "I will require your presence throughout the large portion of each day. When I do not need you, you will be advised that you are free to pursue other duties."

Anger flared within Obi-Wan before he could stop it. "I am not your personal servant."

"Oh, but for all intents and purposes, you *are*." Bruck whirled on him, equal anger blazing in his eyes. "Defy me, and I will break you, Kenobi. I hold the power here. *I* hold the influence with the Emperor. You've been gone a long time. You had promise once, but you'll never be one of us, no matter what you do here. And when the heir is of age, you will be nothing - he is the Chosen One, isn't he?" A cold smile added venom to his words. "He will bring the reign of Darkness to this galaxy for a thousand years, and your part in that will be small. Appreciated for a moment, and then forgotten." Chun slowly turned his back to Kenobi. "You are already finished."

"You think it will be easy?" Obi-Wan asked, prowling around Chun in a wide half-circle, watching as the other man's body shifted in response to his proximity. "You think I'll roll over like a dog and allow you to take control of what's mine?"

"It doesn't matter to me if it's easy, or difficult, the end result will be the same," Chun said, voice low. "What is yours will be mine, and you will be nothing."

Obi-Wan allowed his rage to build, allowed it to flow into the Force, to enhance his power. "You haven't changed," he snarled. "Still one to give away too much of your game, too early. There's no finesse in your methods, Chun."

Chun stiffened, but didn't turn. "You're already finished here," he repeated. "It's just a matter of time. I know what I'm looking for. And when I find it, we will have this conversation again."

"You're damned right we will," Obi-Wan spat.

"Be careful of that anger, Kenobi." Chun turned his head, speaking over his shoulder. "It would be tragic if you allowed yourself to become careless."

"Will my lord require anything further?" Obi-Wan folded his arms across his chest.

"You're dismissed. Be certain that you are present at evening meal. We have much to discuss."

Obi-Wan bent at the waist, giving a bow that was almost imperceptible, and turned on his heel. Fury burned in his blood. There would be no chance to salvage the situation. It had been out of control from the moment Chun was selected to visit Taganor. He would root Jinn out, even if his spies hadn't already given him the information, and the Jedi would die.

For a moment, he considered the alternative. If he handed over the Jedi, Bruck would show him no mercy, and the remainder of the Jedi would be uncovered, slaughtered like animals at a hunt. Taganor would be saved, but the price would be too high. Bruck's need to destroy him would not be satisfied until all the things he cared for were torn apart. All that would remain would be the things of value to the Sith.

Like Anakin.

He could not allow it to happen. Could not, must not. And he would start by protecting the things most precious to him. Valorum was already aware of the danger; their meeting would wait. He went instead to the seraglio, following his heart.

**

Xanatos' quarters were empty. Fear tickled the nape of his neck as he headed for the common area of the seraglio, looking for Xan. He rounded the corner and slammed into Mathius, who immediately dropped to his knees. "Your pardon, my lord."

"Did you come from the gardens? Where is Xanatos?" Obi-Wan demanded.

Mathius did not look up, but his reluctance was made clear by the pause before his answer. "I saw him go into the quarters of the newest slave, Majesty."

Obi-Wan turned his head slowly in the direction of Qui-Gon's quarters, and then he was moving, anger lending speed to each stride. The doors parted for him as he approached, and he stopped dead just inside the room, chest tightening.

Qiu-Gon and Xanatos knelt together on the floor, their faces calm and relaxed with meditation. A Jedi and a pleasure slave, he mused, feeling irrational rage surging through him, swirling around him, creating darkness in its wake. As if on cue, the two men opened their eyes in unison and met his furious gaze.

"I did not give you permission to come here," Obi-Wan said quietly, eyes locked to Xan, who rose to his feet smoothly in the next instant.

"I have never needed permission to move about the seraglio as I pleased," Xan answered, "and certainly not to visit another slave."

"You would carry out this charade?" Obi-Wan snarled. "What has passed between you?"

"Nothing of what you suspect," Xan said, stepping forward, straightening under Obi-Wan's scrutiny. "What troubles you?"

"The Sith," Obi-Wan said, shifting his gaze to Qui-Gon. "Your presence here is no secret and will not remain hidden from their inspection. When they learn of you, I cannot guarantee your safety."

"You came to warn me," Qui-Gon said incredulously.

Obi-Wan felt his own struggle magnified in the faces of these two men, both looking at him with their own brand of concern. Again the anger rose, curling like a fist around his heart. It tempted him, enticed him, for it was not such a long journey into the darkness - just a small step.

"You must not," Xan said urgently. The older man stepped forward, cradling his face between his hands boldly, tenderly. "You must release your hate, let it flow into the Force."

Obi-Wan knocked Xan's hands away. "I have had enough teachers." Helpless frustration overwhelmed him. "I cannot defeat their Darkness unless I match it. It is the way of the Sith, the way they understand."

"You cannot defeat the Darkness unless you remain in the Light." Qui-Gon stood, exchanging a glance with Xanatos, and moved forward. "No matter what they have taught you, you must restrain your anger."

"Peace over anger, honor over hate," Xanatos murmured softly.

"Strength over fear," Qui-Gon finished, with a startled look at his former apprentice.

"Don't spout Jedi platitudes to me!" Obi-Wan closed his eyes, consumed with a desire to kill Bruck Chun stronger than any he had ever felt, and pulled his anger back into himself, letting it build.

"No!" Xan gasped, and then his pleasure slave's hands were on him, pressing him back against the wall, and a warm, willing mouth covered his own. "Use me," Xan murmured, tearing at his clothes. "Turn your anger outward, into me."

"I will *not*," he growled, gripping Xan's arms with bruising strength. "This is not the answer."

"You can't hurt me," Xanatos said, his voice low, eyes glittering. He yanked Obi-Wan closer. "You know that. You know I want this."

Obi-Wan crushed Xan's mouth with a fierce, punishing kiss, heedless of the other man in the room. Xan met his strength with equal strength, melting into the searing contact of tongues and teeth, offering himself completely. Obi-Wan ripped away the spartan tunic and feasted on the bare skin beneath, biting heedlessly, taking and tasting and reveling in the knowledge that Xan was ready, was his. As if to confirm his thoughts, Xan's hands guided him, leading him across the expanse of his body, letting him take his pleasure at will.

They found themselves on their knees, lips touching with sensual, sure grace, savoring a kiss that drew low moans of pleasure from Xan, sounds which hardened Obi-Wan's cock and sent fire into his blood. Savagely, Obi-Wan shoved Xan down, and they tumbled to the ground, mouths locked together as he stripped his slave of his clothes, tearing them from the compliant body without care.

"Yes," Xan hissed, throwing open his arms as Obi-Wan quickly removed his trousers and covered Xan's nude body with his own, rubbing their erections together.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Obi-Wan could sense the Jedi nearby, could feel his shocked arousal, and it excited him. He did not bother to speak; he simply opened the bond between them and allowed him to feel it all, to understand without words. He crawled down Xan's body like a predator, looking for the cock nudging greedily at him, taking it without preamble into his mouth and sucking hard. His hand closed around the soft sac beneath, playing with the sensitive flesh there, squeezing it lightly.

Xan's hips lifted from the soft carpet, driving his cock deeper into Obi-Wan's throat as a finger slipped inside his body. "Master!" The sound of that word, that broken cry, nearly sent Obi-Wan into orgasm then and there, but he controlled his body, grinding his erection into the carpet beneath him and concentrating on Xan's pleasure. He could feel the darkness within him fading, dispelled into this taking, this willing sacrifice. Within moments, he forced a throaty, incoherent groan from Xan as he came, flooding Obi-Wan's mouth with his release.

And realized that Qui-Gon was with them, kneeling behind Xan, his blue eyes hot and intense as he watched the Regent preparing to claim his slave.

Their eyes met over Xan's trembling form as Qui-Gon removed his tunic, tossing it aside. Then the trousers, without finesse, which joined the tunic. His erect penis touched his belly, and Obi-Wan could no longer control the lust driving him.

In one smooth motion, he lifted Xan's legs, draping them over his shoulders, and drove inside the other man's tight channel, releasing a ragged breath as Xan rolled his hips up to meet him. Nearly mindless, he penetrated deeply, filling Xan as far as he could go, stopping only to lean forward and adjust his angle. And then he was moving, spurred on by Xan's breathless sighs, thrusting rhythmically, faster and faster until the darkness in him met the light and exploded into the Force.

And still, it was not enough.

"More," Kenobi said, shuddering, the force of his climax still rippling through him.

Hands gentled him, touched him, even as Xan's fingers carded through his hair, holding him still. Blindly he turned his head, found his mouth captured in a rapturous kiss. Soft whiskers scratched his face.

"Qui-Gon," he breathed, and a smile formed on the lips against his own.

"Be still," came the lyrical command.

Obi-Wan's head dropped forward onto Xan's chest and he pulled back just enough, sliding free of the body beneath him. Xan rolled out and to the side, stroking his skin, bending his head to lick gently at a sensitive nipple.

Pressure at the entrance to his body made Obi-Wan gasp as he was stretched, as fingers reached unerringly inside him and curled there, producing a kind of intense joy that made Obi-Wan arch back, craving more. Xanatos draped an arm over him and began a leisurely journey down his spine with lips and tongue, nipping and soothing the skin after each kiss.

Powerful, large hands steadied Obi-Wan's hips just as the tip of Qui-Gon's cock slid inside him, and he yielded, breathless with the sensation of the bond between them. It exploded into life, throbbing with his anger and Qui-Gon's acceptance. He was filled slowly, shallow thrusts at first, as he rested his head on his folded arms, surrendering to the hands touching him everywhere. It felt strange to relinquish control, strange and joyful and beautiful, and he gave himself over to the incredible waves of passion, riding them as he was ridden with slow, devastating skill.

It seemed to go on forever, that sweet, seductive joining, and he barely noticed when Xan took a soft cloth and cleaned him briskly, or when gentle hands fastened themselves to his filling penis, stroking him until he was hard and aching once again.

Qui-Gon's arm fastened around him, lifting him, pulling him back on that gorgeous cock and he could only groan his pleasure as Qui-Gon surged up into him, opening him, spreading him further. Nearly enough, he thought, and it was the last sentient moment he had before Xan's mouth descended on his erection, tongue lapping and swirling and pulling the last of his sanity from him as with a roar, he came.

Light permeated his body as Qui-Gon's orgasm tore through them both, brilliant, and he was drowning, falling...and he was caught, carried far from the edge of darkness.

It was enough.

*****

Lord Chun leaned back into the luxuriant comfort of an over-padded chair. It had been quite some time since he had enjoyed such frivolous pleasures. He intended to make the most of what had been thrown his way.

His roving gaze fell upon the black robes, hung carefully near the bed. He raised his hand and traced the markings on his face thoughtfully. His tattoos were brands of ownership just as much as they were symbols of his loyalty to the Emperor. Like cattle, the Sith had become a giant herd of creatures surging toward the essence of life - conquest, acquisition, possession. He intended to be sure he was not just another branded beast in that herd.

Kenobi's downfall would be a crucial step on that path. Perhaps it had been unwise to allow his unguarded hatred of the man to show, but there really was no secret to be kept. From the time they arrived together on Coruscant, praised and elevated as the most promising new recruits into the Sith Order, they had been locked in a mortal struggle to be first, best, brightest. Chun would have been chosen to rule Tatooine - he was sure of it - if only Kenobi hadn't had blood ties to the heir. It was a remarkable coincidence, one his teachers told him was the will of the Force.

He wasn't so sure there hadn't been other factors involved. Kenobi had never faced his Trials, had never undergone the pain and the punishment that brought forth the invincibility of a Sith. He had. He was one of their most prized warriors now, a skilled interrogator, a good investigator. It would not take him long to unearth enough to unseat Kenobi and take his position.

Raising the next Emperor should be his duty. He intended to do it well.

Chimes sounded at his door, and he shifted in the chair. Few people would dare to seek him out; common sense dictated that those who did would be of use to him, in a menial and self-serving sort of way. He rose, shrugging on his robe, and faced the door. "Enter."

Ambassador Windu moved past the doors, bowing low to him, and Bruck smiled. "Welcome, Ambassador. To what do I owe the privilege of your visit?"

"I've come to see if it might be possible to work together," Windu said pleasantly, smiling in return. Bruck nearly laughed out loud. The man stank of fear; it poured from him, permeating the room.

"All things are possible. Please, sit." Bruck moved aside, allowing Windu to pass, and watched as he chose the most comfortable chair. Predictable. "What did you have in mind?"

"I will be your eyes and ears here, and you will remove Kenobi." Windu's eyes darted around the room, and Bruck knew instantly that the man could not be trusted to tell him the whole truth. Already, he was holding something back. Still, he might prove useful.

"And what will be the price for this valuable service you would render me?"

"Get rid of Kenobi." Windu's immediate answer brought them straight to the heart of his need. "He doesn't belong here. I've heard he was born a slave - that doesn't give him the right to rule this planet."

"And I suppose you have an alternative solution." Bruck listened eagerly, ready to be entertained.

"I propose that the Council be allowed to control Anakin until he is ready to assume his position here."

Fool. If only he understood the true importance of the boy. "A reasonable solution, Ambassador. I will take your proposal into consideration. In the meantime..." He placed a hand on Windu's shoulder, noting with amusement how the man's muscles tightened beneath his grasp. "You will inform me of anything which will assist me in making my determination."

"Yes, of course," Windu answered. For a moment, he hesitated, and Bruck thought with amazement that he might be stupid enough to actually reveal his best trick before the game had begun - but Windu caught himself, and said nothing.

"Thank you for your visit, Ambassador." Bruck steered him toward the door smoothly. "I look forward to our association."

Windu bowed low and left his quarters, and Bruck smiled after him as the door closed.

Claiming Taganor would be far easier than he had ever imagined.


	10. The Dark Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enemies emerge. A compromise is reached between Jinn and Kenobi.

Taganor smelled of damp grass and wet sky. Thousands of leaves tangled on the branches of their trees, whispering mysteriously in a language Obi-Wan Kenobi had never learned. He stood in the misty air, oblivious to the damp cool of morning, waiting for the sun to arrive and ignite the tropical humidity.

His language had always been the scratch of sand upon his face, the grit of dirt between his teeth, the parched heat of the desert. He'd carried that anchor of home with him throughout his indoctrination to the ways of the Sith, through all the days after he was taken from Tatooine. He no longer recognized the world of his birth. Things were changing, spinning out of his control.

He had come so close to surrender, to giving himself over to the hatred inside...and he could still hear the voice of the Sith who trained him, whispering in his ear as his wounds were pressed with salt and rough cloth. *Focus. Endure. Magnify. Conquer. Dominate. Devour. Destroy...*

So close to reaching out for those dictums...he'd been so close. They seemed so easy, and it was tempting to embrace them in service to his goal of destroying Chun.

The man who moved to stand beside him made no sound, but Kenobi turned his head and nodded, acknowledging this new presence, the bond he could no longer ignore. Together, they leaned against the railing of the balcony, watching the gray mist give way to the sunrise.

Kenobi was the first to speak. "Is he still asleep?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan, and asked the inevitable question. "You knew Xanatos was a Jedi?"

"I knew he could command the Force. He revealed it to me through his actions, when I was wounded." Obi-Wan paused. "It was a foolish thing to do. I might have had him killed."

"You spared a stranger. I think perhaps Xanatos knows you well, my lord, well enough to know his life is more important than a stranger's."

"He knows nothing of my true nature." Obi-Wan stretched briefly, then wrapped his hands around the granite railing. "How could he? He is my property. I have told him little."

"He knows you struggle with the darkness. He senses much," Qui-Gon said softly. "Xan has a talent for seeing inside the heart."

"Insightful, perhaps, but..." Obi-Wan broke off sharply. "Of what importance is he to you? How is it you know so much of his what he feels, Jinn?" The boundaries of his heart were stretching, taking in new information, and Obi-Wan felt lost in emotions he had never contemplated before. That he could feel jealousy over a pleasure slave had never been within the realm of his experience, but Xanatos had made him reevaluate everything he had once understood about his heart.

"He is - was - my padawan."

Obi-Wan's fingers tightened around the railing until his knuckles turned white. "I see."

"I could not find him after the destruction of the Temple. It has been many years. I believed he was dead. Seeing him here, with you, has been...something of a shock."

Obi-Wan turned and braced his back against the granite. Through the open doorway, he could see Xan, his strong, lean body relaxed in sleep. "Circumstances will make men do things, become things, they could never have dreamed. A man must adapt if he is to survive."

"I would not presume to judge him."

"Wouldn't you?" The words came out more sharply than Obi-Wan had intended. "You refused to adapt here. How could you imagine his situation?"

"I know only what I see."

"What do you think you see, Jedi?"

"A man who would give his life for you. As he was willing to, last night."

"I would never have harmed him."

"Perhaps not, but Xan couldn't have known, not for sure. He values the Light in you, more than his own safety." Qui-Gon paused. "He loves you."

"That's no concern of yours."

"Isn't it?"

Obi-Wan turned his face toward the open sky. "I did not ask for this bond with you, Qui-Gon. I can't pretend to understand it. But I won't discuss things that have no bearing on what has happened between us. Do you understand?"

"Tell me, then, why you came to warn me." The blunt question was fired without preamble.

"Bruck Chun will have you tortured, and killed, and he will make certain you die the kind of death guaranteed to keep the Jedi in hiding forever. I...do not sympathize with his hatred of the Jedi. They are no longer a threat to the Empire."

"True." Qui-Gon nodded. "I sense no urgency from you this morning. Have you so quickly abandoned your plan to smuggle me off this world?"

"You read too much into my warning, Jedi. I propose merely to hide you, to stash you away until the danger is past."

"I'm hidden away quite well in the harem."

"Not nearly as well as I'd like. He will see and know every part of this fortress before he's done. The harem won't escape his notice, either. He's a man of...particular pleasures."

"I see."

Obi-Wan turned his gaze on Qui-Gon, direct, hiding nothing. "I will do the best I can to ensure your safety. Which, under the circumstances, is an empty promise."

"What circumstances?"

"Lord Chun is not a clever enemy, but he has the strength of his hatred, and more resources than I had anticipated. He has brought a full battalion of men, more than enough to overrun the fortress if he should command it. He means to take Taganor for himself, by any means necessary."

"Are you asking me to remain as an equal, or as your slave?" Qui-Gon reached out a hand and clasped Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"On this world, you cannot be my equal. You are my property. Any appearance to the contrary will mean your death." Obi-Wan did not flinch away from the touch, but Jinn's hand burned on him, too warm, too close. "I have no will to compel your cooperation, Jedi. Daro will not be harmed regardless of the choice you make."

Qui-Gon looked out at the swelling sun, sitting fat and hot on the horizon, its top shrouded by sleepy morning clouds. "I have obligations to the Jedi."

Obi-Wan could feel a need growing inside him, a response to the blunt statement of obligation, a rising tide of truth that was harder to crush back with each passing day. He looked at Qui-Gon, thinking of consequences, of the price to be paid if everything fell apart. "I speak to you as a man, and not your master."

"You have never been my master," Qui-Gon said, turning his gaze on Obi-Wan. Inside the dark blue of those eyes, amusement shimmered, and much more. "To be mastered is not at all the same as being enslaved, my lord."

"I will still require you submit to my authority." Obi-Wan's voice rang with a gentle echo of power.

"I submit because you are regent, and because it is what I wish."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. Qui-Gon returned his steady gaze.

"Get dressed and come with me. There's someone I want you to meet."

*****

Sleep was an elusive luxury since the Sith had arrived, and it was rapidly becoming the luxury Valorum most craved. His entire body cried out for rest, but there was too much to do, too many vids to examine, too many security matters in need of his attention. All of which could be handled with some measure of efficiency if he weren't being constantly interrupted by Chun's people, demanding various codes and tours and access he was unprepared to grant without Obi-Wan's approval. Chun's subordinates were slowly infiltrating the entire fortress without his help.

He drank down a cup of morning bitterroot and scrolled through a dozen security reports, things Maul was in charge of, scanning for potential problems. The text blurred for a moment before resolving into a picture of calm normality. Nothing out of the ordinary. Valorum snorted and took another sip of his drink.

There were a number of diplomatic reports as well, line after line of immensely boring and fact-filled summaries of trade agreements and revenue statements. He saved those and set them aside for later. With a sigh, he leaned back in his desk chair and stared out at the inhospitable terrain below. The climate control was working, at last, which was a blessing for all of them. Tempers had been short the past few days, shorter still in the heat.

Too many things were happening at once. Valorum's area of primary concern was the Regent, had been since the moment he laid eyes on Kenobi, who was full of grave authority and a thousand quiet questions. He had given his unshakable loyalty in that moment. Something about the young man inspired trust, and he had never had cause to doubt his decision. Especially after meeting Bruck Chun.

No one had to tell Valorum, or anyone else, that Kenobi and Chun were mortal enemies. It was painfully obvious in their body language, in the way they circled each other like desert beasts scenting prey. But Kenobi was distracted, for good or ill, by his own diverging loyalties, and Chun was focused. It didn't bode well for the Regent, and Valorum took a deep breath, calming his own troubled heart.

Chimes sounded from the outer door. "Come," he called, and swiveled in his chair to greet Lord Chun.

"Valorum, isn't it? We were introduced when I arrived, but I've been busy with other things." Chun smiled, a contortion of his face that reminded Valorum of a bantha in the last stages of water deprivation.

"Yes, Lord Chun. What can I do for you?"

"My aides tell me you've been most...helpful. I've come to express my appreciation for your assistance."

"The Regent has given explicit instructions. You are to be afforded every courtesy."

"Yes. I'm sure he has given you many instructions. Every courtesy, as you say." Chun's smile widened a bit. "Tell me, Valorum, how were you chosen for this post? It's not an easy assignment, catering to the whims of the Regent. Surely you grow tired of it from time to time."

"It is a privilege to serve my lord," Valorum answered. He studied Chun. The Sith Lord's face was perfectly blank, giving nothing away, other than an expression of benign surprise.

"Which lord, Valorum? Skywalker, or Kenobi?"

"Does that matter, my lord?

"Perhaps. But we can leave the subject for another time." Chun settled fluidly into a chair on the opposite side of Valorum's console. "Do you report to Skywalker?"

"I report to the Regent daily, and His Highness is often with the Regent for the daily briefing."

Chun's smile disappeared in the blink of an eye. "Is Skywalker being properly instructed?"

"That is not my area of expertise, Lord. The Regent has brought in a number of tutors who instruct-"

"That's not what I mean, Valorum. Don't play coy with me." Chun sat forward in the chair. "Is he being trained properly in the ways of the Empire? He is, after all, *very* important to the Emperor."

"He receives daily direction regarding the dictates of the Empire." Valorum left his answer vague and counted off the ways in which he might answer, if pressed. There was such a delicate balance, such a fine line, and he did not dare give too much away.

Chun's eyes narrowed. "Does he, indeed?" Valorum said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow and waited. Chun's face transformed itself once again. "Of course he does. Kenobi isn't stupid."

"Hardly, Lord Chun."

Chun leaned back in the chair, smiling indulgently. "I can still remember the day he arrived on Coruscant. Have you heard this story, Chancellor? It's certainly worth hearing." Valorum gave a slight shake of his head. "It's a favorite memory of mine. Kenobi escaped the initial sweep, you know. Somehow, he wasn't found when the Imperial Dictate was issued commanding all women to bring their children for inspection. So he lived many years in obscurity on this Sith-forsaken hellhole. When the Empire arrived to terraform it, he came to our attention. He was too old to make a proper apprentice, but the Sith Lord who found him was a weak and small-minded man, and was blinded by Kenobi's charm."

Valorum tilted his head slightly. "Charm, Lord? He was but a boy."

"He was too old!" Chun slammed his fist down on the opposite side of the desk, rattling Valorum's cup. "He joined our class. He knew *nothing* of the ways of the Sith. It was pathetic, the way he leapt and jumped and tried to fit in. He was clumsy." Chun took a deep breath and settled back into his chair. He smoothed his dark robes with one hand. "We called him Oafy-Wan. It suited him."

Something black and hateful crept into Valorum's heart at that moment, but he said nothing.

"They had to beat him several times before he began to understand the true nature of the Dark Side. The Emperor was quite taken with him." Chun paused, glowering at the corner as if looking for an invisible opponent. "When Skywalker was born, they began looking for a regent right away, but I suppose it was just...fortuitous...that Kenobi was related. Luck. Nothing more. He was pulled from training, proclaimed the Regent of Taganor, indoctrinated into the way of the Sith."

Valorum made a quick calculation in his head. Obi-Wan had arrived on Coruscant as a young man, not a child. He had been in training as a Sith for - how long? a few years? - at the facilities there before being plucked from obscurity to reign over Taganor. No wonder Chun held a grudge.

"So you see, he is not one of us. Not a true Sith apprentice. If they felt he had talent, the Emperor would have insisted he be placed in thrall to a Sith Master, as I was." Chun paused in the telling of his story. "Have you nothing to say, Valorum? Your Regent is a fraud."

"It would seem to me Kenobi's appointment as Regent here is proof enough of his talent, Lord. I can't imagine the Regent would have been sent to oversee Anakin if the Emperor did not have complete confidence in his skills."

"Ridiculous. It's a matter of blood, nothing more! The Emperor wanted no opposition to his appointment. You're a fool if you think otherwise." Chun's angry words cut like the edge of a hard blade, and Valorum stood stiffly, bowing slightly.

"I meant no offense, Lord Chun."

"Oh, naturally not." Chun's scornful dismissal straightened Valorum's spine, added determination to his posture. "He showed constant weakness. He refused to strike the slaves in practice. He shrunk from every live practice drill. He was weak, Valorum. He lacks courage. He is only half the man any other Sith Lord is now, or will be."

"As you say." Valorum raised his defiant gaze to the Sith Lord. "Who am I to argue with a Lord of the Sith?"

Chun looked at him for a long moment, and Valorum fought the sensation of being examined at the microscopic level, of being known without his consent. Eventually, the scrutiny ceased, and Valorum breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief. "Where is our Regent this morning, Chancellor? I visited his rooms this morning and found them empty."

"I would imagine he's in the harem. He spends time there, as is his privilege, when his schedule permits."

The face of the Sith Lord became ugly in its envy for the briefest of moments, but as always, the emotion passed quickly. "Take me there."

Valorum slowed the journey as much as possible, but Chun had a habit of stepping ahead and waiting impatiently for him to catch up. It was disconcerting. They reached the annex dedicated to the harem within minutes. Chun stepped eagerly into the corridor and made his way without instruction toward the women's quarters.

"Do you require anything further, Excellency?"

Chun stopped, pivoted. His eyes narrowed. "Where can I find Kenobi?"

Inwardly, Valorum winced. He had given something away, in his tone of voice, his cautious demeanor. "It's difficult to say. He-"

"Where, Valorum?"

"He will be in the section reserved for his favorites. Near the back of the harem, toward the gardens."

"And does he have a favorite?"

At last, a question that could be answered without an answer. "Not at present."

"Show me."

"Very well." Valorum led the way once again, until they emerged in the courtyard near the quarters in the back. Splashing noises and laughter acted as a lure, drawing Chun closer, until the central fountain and pool came into view. Daro was swimming and throwing water at Leyran, who bent toward the side of the pool, half submerged, beating against the surface and returning fire.

They glanced up at the visitors and all play stopped; both men climbed from the water and knelt gracefully, heads bowed, dripping on the duracrete floor.

Chun knelt gracefully in front of Daro and pulled his face up with a gloved hand. He ran a finger speculatively across the generous lips. "Where is your master, boy?"

"He spent the night in the quarters of...the new slave," Daro said, eyes locked on Chun's.

"Where?"

"There," Daro answered, pointing. He shivered beneath the touch of Chun's hand.

The Sith was on his feet and moving within moments, and through the doors without the courtesy of requesting permission. Valorum held back, just outside; Leyran and Daro raised their heads and peered past the Chancellor.

Chun stopped short, staring. After a moment, he advanced toward the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of the bare chest, staring at the tangled limbs of the man sprawled across the bed.

Xanatos stirred and turned toward the close embrace of the pillows.

Chun smiled.

**

Oddly enough, striding through his palace with Qui-Gon just behind him felt wrong to Obi-Wan, as though he should stop and wait for his companion to step along at his side. As it was, however, they attracted more than one curious look. He knew without glancing back that Qui-Gon's head was lowered, his carriage appropriate for a slave, and his clothing was not too provocative. Still, the urge to change the balance was strong, and it surprised him.

"Where are we going?" Qui-Gon asked curiously.

"I'm going to introduce you to the boy who will rule Taganor one day."

Qui-Gon pulled up short; he spoke softly, to escape lurking eavesdroppers. "Is this the child...the one...You asked if I was familiar with the prophecy of the Chosen One."

Obi-Wan gestured impatiently for Qui-Gon to continue, and resumed his course down the corridor. In an equally low tone, he answered, "Yes. The Emperor feels this child is the one." He could feel Qui-Gon's eyes boring into his back. "I want you to tell me what the Force tells you about this child."

"Why?"

Now Obi-Wan stopped, turned to face Qui-Gon. "You are a Jedi. You're trained to be attuned to the Force, to understand when it speaks to you. I need to know what you sense about this boy."

Qui-Gon frowned. "Why does it matter? He is being raised under the influence of the Empire. He will turn. It is only a matter of time; the Emperor will see to it."

"He sent me to see to it," Obi-Wan replied softly, refusing to look away as understanding dawned in Qui-Gon's eyes.

"You are a Sith, yet I have seen...the Force works its will through you." Qui-Gon stepped closer. "You have turned away from the Dark Path, haven't you?"

"I do what I must. What my master requires of me." Obi-Wan began to walk again, and this time Qui-Gon fell into step beside him.

"There is great conflict within you."

"And within you. We are all held prisoner by our destiny, Jedi." Obi-Wan placed his palm across the identilock outside Anakin's classroom. The bond that tied him to Jinn thrummed with insistent need - *let me in* - but he refused to give in to the punishing impulse, to open himself completely to its demands.

Anakin looked up in surprise as they entered the room; his guards bowed briefly and returned to their positions of vigilance. "Obi-Wan!"

"Highness." Obi-Wan bowed before the boy and looked toward the tutor, who deactivated his teaching screen. "I apologize for the intrusion, Yanesh. We won't be long."

"You never interrupt my lessons, Obi-Wan. You always say it's most important for me to learn." Anakin looked suspiciously at Obi-Wan, and for a moment, he seemed far older than his nine years.

"This is a special occasion. I'm sure it won't hurt, just this once. I've brought someone for you to meet. Anakin Skywalker, heir to the throne of Taganor, this is Qui-Gon Jinn."

"Highness." Qui-Gon bowed low, as befitted his current station.

"You're the Jedi." Anakin's eyes narrowed even further. "Obi-Wan spared your life so he could make you his slave."

"Well, yes." Qui-Gon's eyes crinkled with amusement. "It does seem that way, doesn't it?"

"What do you think of him, Anakin?" Obi-Wan perched on top of the nearest desk, stretching out a leg and folding his arms across his chest.

"He's tall. Is he smart?"

"Oh, yes, very smart."

"Not smart enough to keep from getting captured." The smug tone was chilling. Obi-Wan watched as Anakin took a lap around Qui-Gon, looking him over, and wondered if he had made the right decision - if any of his decisions had been right, from his refusal to turn Jinn over to the Sith for execution, to his refusal to draw away from Xanatos, to the feeling that compelled him to bring Jinn to Anakin. There seemed to be no pattern of logic to anything any longer, and it was both disconcerting, and freeing.

"What have you been studying, Anakin?" Qui-Gon leaned forward and read the screen of the data terminal. "Commerce and trade practices?"

"The Council - *my* Council of Advisors says I should understand the principles of taxation and profit."

"Very wise of them." Qui-Gon's expression was kind, but there was a spark of keen interest in his eyes as he looked at Anakin. Obi-Wan could feel Qui-Gon reaching out with the Force; it was subtle, but he was testing Anakin, and the boy was not responding.

Which would have been fascinating under ordinary circumstances, but the tense concern filling their bond told him much more was at stake than a mere test of the Force. He took a deep breath and allowed himself to capture the emotions Qui-Gon felt. Short moments later, he understood: it was not the absence of power Jinn sensed, but power concealed, power so deep and vast that it dwarfed anything either of them had ever experienced. He raised startled eyes to Jinn, who nodded once and returned his attention to the boy.

"What else do you study, Anakin?"

"Why are you asking so many questions?"

"You should be equally curious, and I don't see you asking the Jedi anything which might be of use to you, Highness," Obi-Wan chided instantly.

Anakin's head dropped down for a moment, as if he were thinking. "Why do the Jedi oppose the Empire?"

"The Empire has a policy of suppressing free people, of controlling and destroying those who do not bend to their will. The Emperor believes only those who follow his path have the right to exist in freedom. All others are enslaved and dominated. The Jedi believe all beings should live in peace with one another, and should be allowed to believe and live as they choose."

"You sound like you're reading from a datapad." Anakin smiled. "I think the Jedi oppose the Empire because they don't have the power anymore, and they want it back."

"No, Highness. The Jedi do not wish for power. We are the guardians of peace. We do not rule." Qui-Gon dropped to one knee, bringing him to eye level with the boy. "The Emperor knew we would use our skills to prevent him from harming innocent people, and so he destroyed the Order. This is why we hide, why we oppose the Emperor."

"How do I know this is the truth?"

"Anakin, I've taught you how to use the Force to sense the truth. Go ahead," Obi-Wan urged.

For a moment, Anakin's face became a mask of concentration. After a moment, he looked into Qui-Gon's eyes. "You believe what you're telling me."

"Yes."

"But that doesn't make it true." Defiantly, Anakin went to Obi-Wan's side. "Obi-Wan says the Jedi aren't bad. I guess that's why he didn't kill you." His voice dropped, becoming a chill whisper. "I think he should have killed you."

Qui-Gon stood, straightening his dark tunic, and met Obi-Wan's eyes. "Someday, when you are ready to rule, all those decisions will be yours to make," Obi-Wan said softly. "Until then, you must trust my judgment."

"Some of the Council members think you're wrong," Anakin persisted.

"They don't rule, either." Obi-Wan changed his tone, using the voice that always produced obedience in Anakin. "Now get back to your lessons."

"All right." With one last hostile glance at Qui-Gon, Anakin slid back into his seat and began to read the data on the screen.

Obi-Wan looked questioningly at Qui-Gon, but the other man's face had gone still, and his eyes were far away. "There's something...a disturbance in the Force," Qui-Gon murmured, turning his head slightly to the side as if listening to something no one else could hear. Immediately, Obi-Wan reached out for the Force. Yes. There was a strange kind of chaos, faint, but growing stronger...

The lights went out.

The interior darkness of the palace was absolute, and Obi-Wan whirled in confusion. "Anakin!" he shouted. "Get behind your guards!"

"We have him, sir," came the reassuring reply of the captain.

"Stay still," Qui-Gon ordered, just as Obi-Wan began to move in Anakin's general direction. "And get down!"

Bright bursts of laser fire erupted from the pitch darkness, and Obi-Wan gasped in surprise as he was thrown roughly to the ground, Qui-Gon's weight on top of him. A rain of laser blasts pelted down on them from overhead. Anakin's guards returned fire instantly, firing at an unseen enemy, and one of them cried out in pain as she was hit by a bolt of energy. The smell of sizzled flesh filled the air.

Obi-Wan twisted and rolled to the side, resisting the urge to call out to Anakin, lest the boy give away his position and make himself a target. "Night-vision lenses," he hissed to Qui-Gon, who hushed him with a finger to his lips.

A third round of fire began; Obi-Wan began to crawl toward the door. In the staccato flashes of light, he saw Qui-Gon, standing above him, hand outstretched. And the energy stopped short of his hand, bouncing harmlessly aside.

As suddenly as it began, the attack ceased. After another endless moment of tension-filled silence, Qui-Gon dropped back down beside him. "They're gone."

"Anakin? Are you all right?"

"Yes, Obi-Wan."

The doors were flung wide as Obi-Wan finally reached them, letting in the natural light from the corridor windows. "Get him out of here!" he barked, not even sparing a glance for Anakin as he was hustled by. He scanned the upper walkways of the second level, aware that Qui-Gon was beside him, doing the same.

"Are you all right?" he asked, turning to the Jedi. There was a singed patch of cloth, blackened by a burn, where Jinn had been struck. Obi-Wan grabbed his arm and pulled the cloth apart with his fingers; the skin was smooth beneath.

"I am unharmed." Qui-Gon laid his hand over Obi-Wan's for a brief moment, then withdrew his touch. "It seems strange, after so long, to be without my saber when I am under attack."

"I can't allow a slave to carry a weapon. Especially *that* weapon. Not openly."

"And if I am not your slave, but your bodyguard?"

"What are you saying?" Startled, Obi-Wan stared at the Jedi, who smiled slightly.

"I will stand as your personal guard. I seem to have little choice."

"You have had a choice all along. Why now?"

"Don't you feel it?" Qui-Gon asked. His eyes were haunted, filled with the pain of a man whose decisions are not his to make.

And Obi-Wan did, then, as he opened their bond just a bit wider, permitting entry to the flood of conflicting feelings and impulses Qui-Gon could not contain. The Force had made its will clear; the truth of it resonated with certainty.

The two men stood without speaking, until each looked away. The Force had bound the Jedi to him, and Qui-Gon would protect that bond.

Even at the cost of his oath to the Jedi.

*****

Deep in the bowels of the palace, total darkness reigned unchallenged. The tiniest scrap of light was like a miniature sun, carrying pinpoints of warmth, illusory comfort in the cold blackness. He'd chosen this ancient system of passageways and water ducts in which to do his business; there were no cameras or guards to disturb them, and the dark drew him there, held him fast in its embrace.

He had not needed any instructions. From the beginning, he had known what to do, who stood in his way, what price must be paid to achieve his ultimate objective. He was frustrated at times by his own lack of control, by the terrible need to know more, to do more, to reach the point of total understanding he knew was just beyond his experience.

The Emperor would have need of him, and he would be ready. He would make his master proud.

A shadow slipped from the inky dark, clad in black, and moved into the circle of the glowlight. A hint of red flashed beneath the hood as he bowed his head. "You summoned me, Master?"

"You failed. Again."

"I should have made allowances for the Jedi. I beg your forgiveness."

"I'll kill you before I'll let you tell them anything, you know."

"Yes, my Master."

"I have credits for you. Half of what you agreed to. No more until you take care of this!"

"I understand, Master." The low voice dipped down on the last word, followed by a short bow of the head, but yellow eyes glanced up, scanning the dark beyond the perimeter of light. After a moment, the cloaked figure rose and moved silently away into the tunnels.

Anakin Skywalker turned his head toward the shadows and scowled. "He knew you were here."

A tall man emerged from his hiding place and moved into the light. "Maul has a strong sense of the Force. He's incapable of using it, of course, or he would have been recruited by the Sith long before now. As it is, he is merely an adequate assassin. You have done well, Anakin."

"I want Obi-Wan dead!" the boy hissed fiercely. "They all want to control me. He's the worst."

"I think I have made an alliance that will ensure you have what you want. Now that the Sith are here, Obi-Wan will not hold power for long."

"You had better be right, Ambassador. I want the Emperor to be proud of me. I'm not going to be Obi-Wan's puppet."

Mace Windu nearly smiled as he heard his own words, spoken in their first negotiation, repeated back to him from the mouth of this Darksider child. He was nearly twitching with anticipation. "I promised you, Anakin. I'll take care of everything. I am your loyal servant. You are the rightful ruler of Taganor."

"You'd better do it right, Windu." The boy's eyes narrowed as he looked up, and for the briefest moment, Windu felt his throat close in response to a phantom pressure on his windpipe. "I've learned a lot. If you can't help, I don't need you."

Windu bowed low. "Yes, Highness. I will serve you well."


	11. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sith Lord and Kenobi have a confrontation; the Regent's favorite slave becomes a pawn for another, and the time comes for action.

"I'm not sure if I should be pleased we're fending for ourselves, or nervous." Ket'al shifted on his broad bed, producing a discontented sigh from Mathius, whose head was pillowed on his stomach. "From what you've told us, that little display in the courtyard today was...very interesting."

"Daro, didn't you say the Sith Lord touched you?" Mathius turned his face and lifted up, staring sleepily over at the young slave.

"Yes." Daro's green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "He's no friend of the Regent's; that much is obvious. He has cruel hands."

"Well, he should suit you fine, then," Mathius teased.

Daro didn't respond to the barb, and as Ket'al watched him, Daro's gaze grew distant. "There's no kindness in him, no sport," Daro said thoughtfully. "Not my kind of adventure."

"He's right. You should have seen the way the Sith touched him," Leyran said. "It was like Daro was already his property."

Ket'al snorted softly. He pushed gently at Mathius' shoulders until his lover sat up and rolled to one side. "You all should recognize by now that there's more going on here than a simple power play. Whoever comes out on top will claim every symbol of power the Regent has. Including every being in this harem."

"I don't think he wants us," Daro said. "He wants Xanatos."

Mathius scowled. "Xanatos isn't so different from the rest of us. He's no more special than-"

"You didn't see it. We did," Leyran interrupted, swatting at his brother's foot. "He wants Xanatos."

"Then why didn't he just take him? Kenobi has never refused a guest before. We've all had to earn our keep in the beds of diplomats." Mathius kicked at Leyran's hand in annoyance.

"I think he will take him. But that comes later," Leyran said softly. "No one here will be sorry to see his reign over Kenobi end."

"Kenobi spends all his time with Jinn. The Jedi has already put an end to Xan's influence," Mathius countered.

"No, he hasn't. Kenobi spends time with the Jedi, but..." Ket'al broke off, musing quietly for a moment.

"What you're trying to say is, Xan's influence doesn't start and end with his cock and his lips any longer," Daro supplied helpfully.

Ket'al smiled. "That's one way to put it." He swung his legs off the bed and sighed. "I don't like Xanatos' tactics, or his tricks, or the way he wields his influence. But I don't think any of that will come to an end simply because he spends a night or two in the Sith's bed."

"Oh, it won't." Daro dropped down to the plush carpet and draped his arms over Ket'al's knees. "And the silver-haired Sith knows it. It's easy to see; it was in his eyes. That's why he wants him. It isn't about desire, you know."

Mathius sat up on his knees and wrapped his arms around Ket'al, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. "For once, I'm grateful none of us is the favorite," he said, squeezing Ket'al's shoulders.

Ket'al allowed his head to drop back against Mathius' chest, a silent gesture of worried agreement.

*****

"It doesn't fit."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and sprawled comfortably across the bed, examining the evidence. His gaze traveled slowly down the gray and black lines of Qui-Gon's clothing, which was too tight, form-fitting, and gave a good glimpse of the muscled, disciplined body beneath. "You have become a slave to fashion since your arrival here, Jedi. Not everything can reveal your body to its best advantage."

Slowly, one tiny notch at a time, Obi-Wan was becoming used to the presence of the bond between them. It no longer hummed at the back of his neck like an irritating sand fly; it was more like static now, a kind of white noise he could turn down, sublimating the input when necessary. Stray emotions crept in from time to time, his own and Jinn's, but he recognized the other man's discipline, his efforts to keep the link from being flooded with their individual reactions.

It was not easy for either of them, but it could not be undone.

Qui-Gon tugged at the uniform of the Regency Guard, yanking it into place. "It's simply not an efficient uniform, Highness. It...creeps."

With a chuckle, Obi-Wan answered, "You're too tall. We haven't anything in the uniform stock to fit you. Something will have to be custom-made."

"I could wear my tunics..." Qui-Gon began, but Obi-Wan stopped the argument with a wave of his hand.

"Obviously, you have a death wish. Chun will have you soon enough. I see no need to send you headlong into your execution."

"An obedient bodyguard will not arouse suspicion," Qui-Gon said, straightening his collar.

"No. But the Ambassador will certainly react to your presence, even if the others do not, and there will be questions, and the Sith will know the lie." Xanatos' voice emerged from the corner of the room, sharp, edged with urgency. Qui-Gon turned, surprise evident in his features, and looked at his former apprentice as Xan moved closer to the Regent.

"Don't be too sure of that." Obi-Wan sat up. "After all, he could be accused of complicity in hiding the Jedi's identity. Windu is not stupid, but he's not quite clever enough to have thought of a way around this just yet. I'll have to take this one step at a time."

Xanatos left his place by the window, where he had been standing in silence since Obi-Wan summoned him, and dropped to one knee in front of Obi-Wan. His eyes sparkled indigo as he cast his most persuasive look at the Regent. "Forgive me, my master, but you might have been killed in the attack on the classroom. And the solution you have found to address that problem holds danger for you as well."

"Not as much danger as Qui-Gon faces, once Chun is aware of his true...calling." Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon once again. The gray uniform was ill-fitting, and not simply because of the cut and size of the cloth. His gaze returned to Xanatos. "There is no solution to this, Xan. At least, none the Sith will permit. From the beginning, Chun was determined to overthrow me here, to take control. This was never meant to be a fair evaluation of my skill, or of what Anakin has learned under my tutelage. The Emperor has been influenced, made to believe I am traitor to the Empire. It has never made a difference what my response is, or how well I have ruled. My reign here will come to an end."

The candor of Obi-Wan's statement startled Xan; it was evident in the way his body tensed, every muscle becoming taut. "I don't believe that," Xan said fiercely. "The Emperor sent you here. He trusts you. He wouldn't abandon you to Chun." There was a bitter desperation in the words, a denial born of need.

Obi-Wan leaned forward, captured Xan's face between his hands. He brushed his fingertips over the smooth skin, lingering over the scar, and traced the open circle slowly, deliberately. "I am not the kind of man who gives things away," he said softly, breathing the words against Xan's lips. "And I won't abandon this world, or its heir, unless there is no other option."

Xanatos inhaled a slow breath, and Obi-Wan let himself be drawn in on the whisper of air, closing his mouth over Xan's in a lingering kiss. Gently, without the punishing haste of lust, he possessed Xan's lips, pausing to kiss the corner of his mouth. His heart quickened at the low, precious sound of wanting that trembled in the throat beneath his traveling kisses, and he groaned softly. "There's no time," he said, speaking into the shell of Xan's ear.

"I know, my master." Xan shuddered beneath his hands, and Obi-Wan held him there a moment more before releasing him with regret.

Qui-Gon's eyes burned into him, but Obi-Wan looked at Xan. He averted his gaze, choosing not to see the pain he could clearly feel, through a bond he had stopped trying to deny. "Qui-Gon," he said softly, without taking his eyes from Xan's. "Wait in the corridor."

A moment later, the door slid open, then closed.

"Master," Xan said, an affirmation, and their bodies tangled together, hands moving, marking, taking.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and surrendered to the feeling of being worshipped, of his body being beyond his control, as Xan reached unerringly for the source of his desire and stopped his heart with savage skill. Fingers worked him with urgent passion, and he permitted himself the small luxury of accepting that gift, something offered freely and not compelled by ownership.

"Look at me," Xan murmured, an echo of the master's past directives.

Obi-Wan smiled and opened his eyes, to favor Xan with a seductive gaze. Satisfaction settled over him, as he saw his passion mirrored in Xan's eyes. His hands grappled for position, and he wrestled his way back to control, turning Xan, pinning him, holding him fast as he devoured his mouth, swallowing his gasps and cries of pleasure.

"Excellency."

Some dim, responsible part of Obi-Wan's mind responded, tuning in to the hesitant sound of Valorum's voice. He lifted his head from his task. "Valorum," he rasped. "What is it?"

"I must speak with you. Privately."

"Now?"

"There is little time before dinner, Excellency. You will be expected to arrive as soon as Chun and his entourage are seated."

Obi-Wan licked at Xan's lips, touching the tip of his outstretched tongue before pushing away. He rose from the bed and offered Xan a hand up, grinning at him. "Return to your quarters and wait for me."

"Yes, my master." Xan grinned in return, and for the first time, he did not kneel. Instead, he bowed, and with a mischievous smile at Valorum, he was gone.

Obi-Wan gave brief acknowledgment to the spark of joy in his heart before turning to his most trusted advisor. "I know, Chancellor, that you have a compelling reason for disrupting my...dinner preparations."

Valorum's eyebrows climbed immediately to the middle of his forehead. "Most certainly. It has to do with Xanatos."

"What do you mean?"

"While you were under attack this afternoon, Chun paid a visit to the harem. He saw Xanatos. He understands the nature of your relationship."

So it had come to this. A surge of anger burned through Obi-Wan; he had known he should be careful, that he must take precautions, but this.... "Explain."

"He is quite intuitive, Excellency. I would not be at all surprised if he asked for Xan's company in his bed."

"Do you understand what you're saying?" Obi-Wan stared at Valorum. "What you're implying?"

"Yes."

"I can't. I...he won't demand it..."

"He will. I saw his face, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan's eyes slowly fluttered closed. After a moment, Valorum's voice reached him, brought him back from the sickening array of images in his mind. "Excellency, he knows you have no other choice."

"Does he?" The Regent of Taganor turned, casting his glance outside the windows, watching the perpetual storms as they gathered and tossed in the vast sky. "He may understand what little he knows, but there are other choices I could make, Valorum. The time comes closer every day."

"There is still no way to be sure, Excellency." Valorum took a step toward Obi-Wan, then stopped. "The boy...the assassin...it's all tied together. You must be certain beyond all doubt."

"Bruck is forcing my hand. He's shortening the time I might have had to obtain the objective. There's not going to be any second chance." Obi-Wan sighed. "I'm not sure I'll be able to make the decision, when the time comes."

"Of course you will. You could not have come this far if you were not the kind of man who can make those decisions."

Obi-Wan smiled grimly. "Things are getting out of hand too quickly. I hadn't counted on Chun being the one. If anything, I expected one of the Emperor's advisors - someone who would be less focused on my removal. Someone more easily influenced."

"You have known since the beginning - since before the beginning - that it might happen this way." Valorum hesitated, then added, "And you have been distracted by personal concerns."

With his silence, Obi-Wan lent his agreement to Valorum's assessment.

Valorum bowed. "Shall I send in your guard, Excellency?"

"No. Have Jinn wait outside."

"As you wish."

Obi-Wan stared after Valorum as the doors closed behind him. His senior advisor, the only person he had relied on for many years, was entirely correct. The time was near when there could be no retreat from any position he took. The weight of that responsibility made him feel tired, older than his years.

Slowly, he made his way to the comm console on the far wall. With a few keystrokes, he disabled the holocamera recording his official communications for posterity, as well as the new devices the Sith had installed to keep track of his correspondence. Obi-Wan reached deep, drawing upon memory, calling forth a sequence of words buried in the past, and began to type.

A few sentences later, he sat back, waiting.

Words appeared on the small screen, encrypted in a code long embedded in his mind. He tapped in the key, allowing the encryption to unwind.

*Do what you think best. Careful you must be.*

He read the sentence several times, taking strength from it. His fingers moved across the digipad, entering commands, until the words disappeared from the screen, completely obliterated.

With a small gesture, he opened himself to the Force, summoning the small piece of crystal beside his bed. It flew into his open hand, a steadfast reminder of the past, of duty. He closed his hand around it, gripping hard, tightening his grasp until he felt the cool pulse of blood from his cut skin.

He would do what must be done.

*****

"A most enticing menu, Obi-Wan. My compliments to your staff." Chun gestured broadly at a tray filled with leafy vegetation and dense meats, and waited for the servants to fill his plate. Half-empty platters of colorful imported fruits were scattered about the long table, alongside native foods especially prepared for the meal.

"We have perfected the art of hospitality, my lord. All are welcomed here." Obi-Wan picked up his glass and drank a deep swallow of native wine. "Have you tried the roast bantha? Domesticated bantha are most popular these days. I don't find them particularly appetizing; it requires too much effort to remove the sand particles...and the teeth."

"Yes, the teeth." Chun crossed his hands across his belly, fingers laced together, and grinned. "Pity about those teeth. The meat is quite appealing, otherwise."

"Another product we have had little opportunity to sell," Windu interjected.

The dinner was progressing exactly as expected. Banter, negotiation, barbs, and fear. No one dealt openly; all hands were held close, examined, picked over for weaknesses and potential strengths. Obi-Wan fought the feeling of dread that shivered at the base of his spine. He did not dare to show any weakness, but nothing good could come of any part of their discussions.

"I'm certain, Ambassador, that you don't mean to imply the Empire has restricted your commerce in this area." Chun smiled broadly. "The Emperor is determined that all worlds will succeed in their attempts to trade freely."

Obi-Wan laughed softly. "Forgive me, my lord, but you seem to have forgotten the embargo against Tatooine. It was put in place by the Emperor to restrict trade routes and ensure the Empire receives its fair share of all sector cargo passing through Mos Eisley."

"The Emperor has lifted many restrictions where your world is concerned, Kenobi. Too many. He's made it far too simple for you to take what you want, instead of what's needed." Chun's smile had acquired the unpleasant aftertaste of flavored medicine.

"This world is no longer the hiding place of smugglers and pirates, Lord Chun." Obi-Wan's smile evaporated.

Chun's smile vanished as well. "No. Now you merely hide criminals, enemies of the Imperial Edict!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that your sympathies for the Jedi are well known, Kenobi. You have harbored fugitives."

Obi-Wan smiled slightly, and took another sip of wine.

"I don't know why the Emperor doesn't just lift the embargo," Anakin said sulkily. His chair was pressed into the small open space at the top corner of the table, next to Obi-Wan and to the side of Chun.

Chun immediately focused his attention on Anakin. "Don't you? Think it through. If you have learned your lessons well, Excellency, you should be able to reason it out."

"The Emperor isn't sure all the worlds will do what he wants, so he keeps things they want and gives them things when they do what he wants them to," Anakin said slowly, after a moment.

"Very good, Excellency. Yes, the Emperor rewards those who show their loyalty, over time."

"He also has them brutally executed for the slightest infractions," came a voice from across the table. Chun swiveled in his chair to look at Ki-Adi-Mundi, who met his gaze with a neutral expression. "Understand, Lord Chun, I do not question the Emperor's prerogative to do as he chooses with his subjects, but he reigns through terror. Not always an effective or desirable method of leadership."

"It has served its purpose." Chun paused. "I admire a man who speaks his mind, Councilor. But one wonders, where have you developed these convictions of yours? Hardly the attitude one would expect from a senior advisor to the man who is Regent here."

"The inhabitants of this world think for themselves, my lord." Obi-Wan captured the thread of the conversation.

"All men are guided by the prevailing opinion. It would seem that here, the prevailing opinion is somewhat more...liberal...than elsewhere in the galaxy."

"Our Regent has shown his tolerance for many beings during his reign," Windu said, and not in a complimentary way.

Chun turned his sharp gaze back to Anakin. "The Regent represents your interests, Anakin. His policies should be an extension of what you believe. Unless, of course, he thinks you are too young to be trusted to express your opinions."

Anakin frowned. "Obi-Wan asks me my opinion."

"And does it match his own? Is it your opinion that the policy of this world should be that all can be free here, even criminals and scum?"

"Anakin does not rule, because he has not yet learned all the political ramifications-" Obi-Wan began.

"My question was for Anakin," Chun interrupted smoothly. "Well, Excellency?"

"I am loyal to the Emperor," Anakin said, with a look at Obi-Wan.

"Well, then. It would appear you have learned at least some of your political lessons, young man." Chun chuckled. "It has been a very long day, and I feel the need for entertainment. I found a particularly attractive possession of yours in the harem today, Kenobi. I think perhaps I will experiment with it tonight."

Kenobi locked eyes with him. "I may have need of that...possession...myself this evening. Choose another."

"So you've heard of my visit to your harem, then? For how else could you know which of your treasures I desire?" Chun's eyes gleamed wickedly.

"Your movements in my fortress are reported to me, yes. It is, after all, *my* fortress, my lord. My security personnel are merely...cautious."

"Yes. Well, choose another plaything tonight. I'll be using yours."

Obi-Wan caught the objection rising from somewhere near his heart and crushed it down. If Chun were certain how much of a sacrifice this was, Xan would not survive until morning. And he would be placed in an intolerable position.

He reminded himself that Xanatos was merely a slave, bought and sold and trained for pleasure. He had shared the other man before, and this was no different. There was duty to consider, and obligation.

"Shall I have him delivered to your quarters, my lord?" Kenobi asked, making his face into a bland reflection of nothing, like the calm surface of a lake, as Chun scrutinized him.

"I'll have my guards fetch him." Chun waited a beat. "Tomorrow, you will turn over all port documents and shipping records from the major cities of Taganor, and we will examine the cargo and passenger lists. I'm most curious to see what's there."

"Once again, you infer wrongdoing, Chun." Obi-Wan let loose a bit of his anger; it tightened his throat, lowered his voice. "This world remains loyal to the Empire."

"Except when it isn't." Chun smiled. "Except when your personal agenda conflicts with Imperial doctrine. Don't pretend, Kenobi. I'm tired of the charade."

Like lightning, both men were on their feet. From the edges of the room, guards stepped forward, hands on their weapons. Seemingly from nowhere, a tall man appeared just behind Kenobi, dressed in the distinctive gray and black of the Regent's personal guard. Chun glanced at his face, and at Kenobi, and his smile widened. He gestured to his own guards with a flicker of one finger, and they withdrew. Kenobi nodded, and his own men melted back into the shadows.

"It would seem our pleasant dinner is at an end," Chun said mildly. "Good night, Excellency." Chun bowed to the still-seated Anakin and left the table with a flourish, guards clicking along behind him in measured columns.

Obi-Wan watched him go, conscious of Qui-Gon once again stepping close, also watching. It was going to be a very long night.

**

Bruck Chun executed a perfect running leap, spinning and twisting in the air so quickly he would have been a blur of motion to anyone watching, and landed gracefully in the center of his room. He drew his lightsaber out and began to practice the graceful dance of death that had become imprinted on the very cells of his body, over time. Each position flowed into the next without conscious thought. He focused one part of his mind on the exercise, on breathing and following through each move to completion, and turned the other part to the situation at hand.

He had, of course, declined to exercise his daily katas in the practice salles of the palace; it would not do to allow Kenobi to see what kind of fighter he had become, or to observe his strengths and weaknesses. The quarters he'd been given in the fortress were sufficient for his purposes, adequately large. When he and Kenobi had sparred last, Kenobi had impressed the instructors; his agility and speed, and mastery of aerial techniques, had drawn the attention of the Emperor.

Bruck had been whipped and starved for so many days he could not count them, all because his instructor was disgraced. Chun was the senior student. He was the one closest to being taken by a Sith Lord as apprentice. Kenobi was a boy from nowhere, a clumsy, awkward boy who should have been easily defeated. He lacked aggression, the will to kill; every teacher said so. He was not sufficiently converted to the Dark Side.

Despite all of that, Bruck had been beaten by that boy. Humiliated. Made to suffer. It would never happen again. It gave him a small measure of satisfaction that Kenobi had never completed his training as a Sith, and so was never permitted to carry a lightsaber. In all ways, Kenobi was inferior to Chun, and he would soon prove it to the Emperor.

He stretched his body into the more difficult positions. The hum of his lightsaber underscored his kata as he turned, rolled, propelled himself into the air. It was beautiful to see - he'd watched in admiration as it was demonstrated, many times - and was merely a distracting prelude to the ultimate outcome: destruction.

Pleasure was not his ultimate objective for the evening. No question, however, that every part of what was to come would be deeply satisfying. He could fully indulge his impulses, his every whim, with the pleasure slave, knowing that Kenobi squirmed over the challenge to his ownership. Every touch, every taste, every thrust would bring Kenobi closer to the edge. And Bruck wanted him on that edge, out of control, not thinking clearly. Kenobi had been smart enough to pretend nonchalance, but Bruck was no fool.

It was his best chance to win. Bruck had never been a particularly subtle strategist, and he had no illusions about his ability to manipulate Obi-Wan. There was not much opportunity for political maneuvering here, no behind-the-scenes ebb and flow of power. Windu might come in handy, but the man wasn't bright enough to be of much use. Anakin...the boy had shown insight, and glimmers of power, at dinner. He would be useful once Bruck cleared the way for himself as the boy's teacher.

One other small detail troubled him. It nagged at him, tickling the back of his mind. The tall bodyguard who stood in the shadows near Kenobi's chair, who moved forward when Bruck had shown his strength at the table. His face was familiar. Somewhere, at some time in the past, that man had crossed his path. In the service of the Sith, as a soldier, perhaps. There were so many of them, and those who survived the war with the Jedi had gone on to find their way as best they could, as mercenaries or in private armies.

Shrugging, he completed the cool-down phase of his kata and toweled off. The chrono indicated the approach of nightfall.

Door chimes rang softly, and he smiled. "Enter."

Escorted by two guards, Xanatos entered the room and sank to the floor in front of Chun. "My lord."

Chun rubbed the towel across his bare chest and took a long, critical look at the man kneeling before him. Finely muscled, lean and strong. Beautiful, in some respects. Someone who would not break under his unique attentions. Someone who would survive to tell the story, just as he wanted it told.

"You are Kenobi's favorite, I'm told." Chun reached for him, lifted Xan's chin. "What do you do for him that has gained his favor?"

"I do as I am told. I am my lord's to command."

"That you are," Chun said, chuckling. "Tell me, slave. Do you think your master will miss you tonight?"

"I don't know, my lord."

"I think you do. And I think, when this night is over, you'll be grateful to return to him. If I allow it." He leaned forward, looking at Xan's face, focusing on his eyes, darkest of all blues. "I might find you worth keeping."

There. Just for a brief moment, a flicker of alarm in those eyes.

Satisfied, Chun leaned even closer. "Will you please me the way you please the Regent? I wonder." He closed his lips over Xan's in a punishing kiss, without warmth, plundering and taking, and was not at all surprised to feel the response, equal in its brutality. This was, after all, a pleasure slave, trained to adapt. He bit savagely at the hot mouth beneath his own, reveling in the sudden gasp of pain, and lapped at the droplets of blood spilled against his tongue.

"Disrobe," he murmured. "And do it quickly."

With a nod, Xanatos stood and dropped his tunic and trousers, and waited unselfconsciously. Chun rubbed his hand across his aching erection, a gesture that was immediately answered by Xanatos, who reached for the fastenings of Bruck's trousers with graceful fingers. Bruck allowed it, watching with rapt fascination as his cock was removed from its constraints, handled with just a hint of roughness.

His hand shot out and clasped Xan's throat with cold cruelty, squeezing hard for a moment. "If you cause me any trouble, slave, you will not live one moment past your act of rebellion."

Xan's eyes signaled his understanding, and a gratifying amount of fear. Like an aphrodisiac, that fear went straight into Chun's blood, inflaming his desire.

Chun released his stranglehold on the slave, pausing to admire the bruises which had begun to purple on the pale skin, and sank back on the bed. His eyes narrowed as Xan knelt between his legs, then stretched out between them. A well-trained and practiced tongue began to trace the length of his shaft, swirling rough and quick over the head, then down again. He shifted impatiently, and as expected, the slave adjusted to the non-verbal cue. His lips opened, and he took the whole of Chun's shaft between his lips and into his mouth, sucking strongly.

Chun's fingers tangled in Xan's hair, tightening there as he forced Xan to increase the pace, watching as Xan moved his mouth rapidly on the slick, glistening shaft. His hips pushed forward and he fucked Xan's mouth unmercifully, rocketing toward climax in his usual efficient way. He spilled his seed in the slave's mouth, and lay still as he was licked clean.

Contentment filled him, a momentary sensation usually tied to the completion of a difficult mission, and his mind wandered through a jumbled collection of images, of past victories, comparing them to what was to come on Taganor. The defeat of the Jedi on Yarmen IV had been especially satisfying. He could still see the prisoners, shackled in the mines, and hear their feeble protests as the names of the Jedi who had escaped were tortured out of them...

"Son of a Sith!" he shouted, shoving Xanatos away; the slave fell from his perch on the bed and sprawled on the floor. He stepped over Xan on his way to the comm panel. "Enable a secured connection," he barked at the computer, which complied immediately, providing a secure access screen. Bruck entered his code and connected quickly with the Imperial Mainframe, and was into the database in a matter of moments. He scanned through the accumulated intelligence information until he found the file he needed, and began scrolling through holopics until...

Yes. Oh, yes.

He downloaded the information and hastily opened a communications link. Several frustrating moments passed, until the holoprojector began to shimmer with an incoming signal, and Chun dropped immediately to his knees.

A blue-tinted figure hovered over the vidpad. "What is it?"

"My Master. I have discovered evidence that Kenobi is harboring a fugitive Jedi, one of those who attacked and destroyed a cloning facility on Yarmen IV. I have sent the file for your examination."

"This is...regrettable." Emperor Palpatine was silent for a long moment. "You're certain of this information, Chun?"

"It is confirmed, Sire. Kenobi is the worst kind of traitor. He must be removed."

"Take no action until my troops arrive. I will send two squadrons to assist you. Do nothing. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master." As the live projection disappeared, a feeling of deep, primal satisfaction overtook Bruck. It had fallen into his lap. Kenobi was once again undone by his stubbornness, his break of faith with the Sith. He was weak. And everything that once belonged to Kenobi would fall to Bruck as reward. It was fitting.

Slowly, he stood and turned to Xanatos, who had resumed a kneeling pose, one hand resting lightly against his ribs. The slave would have to be destroyed, lest he alert Kenobi. But there was nothing to prevent him from using the slave for the rest of the evening. He deserved a celebration.

A broad grin spread across Bruck's face. "Now. Where were we?"

******

Xanatos opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. Everything hurt - everything, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He breathed a shallow breath, experimentally expanding his lungs, and winced. Only a supreme will of effort kept him from flinching.

The outflung arm of the Sith weighted him. When he awoke, Chun would kill him. Nothing was more certain, aside from Kenobi's impending downfall. He could not estimate how long it would take the Imperial troops to arrive - there was no way to know where they were based.

He would have to warn Obi-Wan. He could not allow him to be caught unprepared, thinking Chun was his only immediate concern.

Without moving, he surveyed his injuries. A cough bubbled up inside him, and he recognized the taste of metal. Blood. He was bleeding inside. He could heal his injuries, perhaps, but he would not have the strength to use the Force much, if at all. Just enough to ensure he survived to his execution in the morning.

On the other hand, he might be able to deepen Chun's sleep, enough to allow him to slip away. The guards would be easily overcome. But his injuries would not be so easily ignored.

Xanatos closed his eyes again. There was no choice. Only two things had ever been important to Xanatos, and both of them were entwined with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He called on the Force in a way he had not done for a very long time, waited until he felt it singing within him, pulsing in powerful waves. And he reached for Chun's sleeping mind, pressing it deeper into dreams, influencing him down deep in a way no Jedi would ever attempt in good conscience.

Now or never, he supposed. Grunting with effort, he picked Chun's arm off him and dropped it on the bed, then rolled to his feet. A sharp pain traveled through him as he stood, leaving him bent and gasping for air, and he found he could not straighten. He made his way to the door and reached for the petty minds of the men there, until their consciousness winked out like candle flames in a storm. Gingerly, he opened the doors and made his way slowly down the corridor.

There was not much time.

*****

"I should not have allowed this." Obi-Wan paced the room, almost oblivious to both Qui-Gon and Valorum, who paced their own corners of Obi-Wan's quarters. Qui-Gon watched helplessly as Obi-Wan worked himself into a state of agitation.

"You had no choice! If you hadn't agreed, what do you think he would have done?" Valorum's eyes blazed with angry heat. "He would have had your position here. All it takes is the smallest defiance of the orders of the Sith. And there were witnesses, men who would gladly see you executed for treason, for defiance of Imperial dictates! Not to mention what a disaster it would be to give him leverage over you. I know Xanatos is important to you, Obi-Wan, but-"

"Stop, Valorum. Stop." Obi-Wan had him by the throat before Valorum could choke out the remaining words. "I would not trade this world for any man's life. But I could have stopped this. I should have."

"No," Valorum said thinly, eyes blazing, as Kenobi released him. "You could not. He will take what he wants no matter the cost. We discussed this. Tomorrow, this will not seem so -"

A gasp from Qui-Gon caused them all to turn.

The reassurances died on Valorum's lips as Xanatos stumbled into the room. Blood trickled from his lower lip; hideous bruises had swelled on his cheeks, under his eyes, on his neck. Deep bite marks marred Xan's handsome features. One had begun to fatten on his lip, another across his cheek, and one puffed angrily on his shoulder. He walked gingerly, holding his side, and the burn marks on his wrists made the situation all too clear.

"Master..." Xan straightened, and the gesture was filled with pain, but Obi-Wan was there, lifting him.

"Xan!" Obi-Wan caught his lover in his arms, and with assistance from Qui-Gon, lifted him swiftly to the bed.

"I am...all right, my master. I am...something is torn." Xan hissed out a pained breath.

Obi-Wan's jaw tightened; Qui-Gon watched as he smoothed the hair back from the abused face, looking at the damage. "Valorum. See to it. Get a healer."

Valorum knelt beside the bed, pressing a palm to Xan's forehead. "I have called, my lord. The healer is on his way." His hands moved efficiently over Xan's body, stopping briefly at every indrawn breath and wince, taking inventory of injuries.

"Master. Chun knows about...Qui-Gon. He has told the Emperor you are a traitor. There are troops..." Xan's face contorted in agony.

Obi-Wan stood, and his eyes met Qui-Gon's across the room. The hazel intensity of his gaze burned white-hot. "Stay here. Protect Xan. Heal him, if you can."

"If you must do this, let me come with you," Qui-Gon urged, almost involuntarily. But Obi-Wan was moving, his body a mass of tensed muscles, of leashed fury waiting to be uncovered, set free. There was power there, barely concealed, deadly in its absolute ferocity.

"No. Xan needs you."

"Obi-Wan!" Valorum's voice rang out in the room, and Kenobi stopped. The Regent's body pulsed with need - the need to hunt, to destroy. Qui-Gon felt it in his blood; the room thrummed with the emotion bleeding from Kenobi. "*Think* for a moment. Everything is at stake, *everything*."

A long moment of silence passed. Qui-Gon watched the shifting muscles in Obi-Wan's back, saw the indecision in his posture as he tensed to go, felt the exhaled breath of reason. The Regent spun suddenly, fixing him with a look full of meaning. "This can't be delayed any longer. It's over. There is nothing to be gained by letting him live."

Valorum bowed low, showing more obeisance than Qui-Gon had ever seen from the Chancellor. "Obi-Wan, please. What of Anakin? There is much at stake, so much to lose. Think of your world. There will be a way to convince the Emperor you are loyal -"

"There is no way. The evidence is true. Denial would be pointless now; even if Palpatine believes me, he will not allow me to remain in control of Anakin."

"Obi-Wan!" Xan struggled to one elbow, and his eyes darkened with every beat of his heart.

Obi-Wan turned to look at Xan. "This is not because of you." The words carried no conviction. Every man present knew it to be at least a partial lie, and a pang of regret coursed through Qui-Gon at the understanding of it. Obi-Wan hesitated just a moment before returning to Xan's side, cradling his slave's face in his hands for a moment. His thumbs slid across Xan's lips, tracing the savage bite mark there, before he bent close to kiss the corner of Xan's mouth. "If I should not return, Valorum will help you find a way off this world before the Sith arrive."

"We won't survive this if you fall," Xan murmured.

Kenobi smiled without pleasure. There was a hint of evil in the smile, and determination. "I will not fall."

"Are you so sure?" No bitterness, just a simple question. Qui-Gon waited quietly for the answer, hoping he might still avert disaster.

Obi-Wan bowed his head for a moment. A shadow crossed his face, marring the light in his eyes, obscuring his expression. He dropped to his knees near the door and pushed at a panel in the wall with his fingertips. It gave way immediately, creating a small, square hole just large enough for his fist.

Qui-Gon took a step in the direction of the bed, but his eyes never left Obi-Wan's back as the Regent slipped his fingers into the darkness and withdrew them. His actions were hidden from view for a moment as seven distinct clicks, the sound of something being assembled, echoed in the quiet. Xan trembled on the bed and was still; Valorum closed his eyes.

Obi-Wan turned. "Valorum. If I do not return, you understand what to do?"

"Yes, my lord."

He was gone before any of them could think of a way to stop him.

A hand grasped at Qui-Gon, drawing his attention back to the moment. "Heal me," Xan whispered, his eyes carrying a stern plea. "Now. Before it's too late."

Valorum fixed his disciplined stare on Qui-Gon. "Now, Jedi, we will see what you are made of."

Qui-Gon stared at the closed door a moment more before turning his attention to Xanatos. He placed his hands on his former apprentice, but his mind returned to processing the image burned into his memory. Just a silver and black shadow at Obi-Wan's belt, barely visible as Obi-Wan attached it there and strode through the door, but it was something instantly recognizable to the Jedi Master.

A lightsaber.


	12. Chrysalis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All paths lead to darkness for the Regent, who must make a fateful decision and carry it through. Obi-Wan's past is revealed.

The hands hovering over Xanatos, touching him with firm assurance, were the hands of someone who dispensed comfort and calm as easily as he breathed. Instinct told him it must be Qui-Gon, healing him. Xan released his anxiety as he floated in the gentle grasp of unspoken persuasion. His body offered token resistance, which was easily overcome. Jinn was as skilled a healer as he was a warrior and the pain was subsiding, one tiny agony at a time.

He could hear his former Master speaking faintly, as if very far away. "Don't struggle. Let me help you." There was something oddly desperate and rushed in the expression of the words, something fearful.

Xan remembered suddenly; surreal fragments of his ordeal crashed together as the previous night's events came into sharp focus. Pain first, and then a face so cruel that its image and actions would be forever burned into his memory. He knew he had crawled, and was not ashamed. He had not begged, but if he had been told to do so, he would have obliged gladly, prostrate on the floor, a perfectly obedient plaything. He had allowed humiliation to wash over him, leaving him free of guilt, and had told himself he would do anything he must to ease Obi-Wan's anguish. He would have done anything to survive the night, to remain alive so that he might return to Obi-Wan, so that they all might live.

Xan opened his eyes with great effort. Qui-Gon's expression was a study in composure, still with concentration as he touched Xan's body. Xan's gaze shifted to the grim face of the Chancellor, and a thought entered his consciousness slowly, gaining clarity with awareness. He might die before he had achieved his destiny.

The scene before Xan's eyes faded as his thoughts traveled back in time. Strange that when he was so close to becoming one with the Force, he should find it so tempting to drift into the images and sensations of his youth. The marketplace beckoned, with its mix of barking auctioneers, its baying crowds and the pervasive scent of fear overlaid by heavy perfume. He saw the block where he stood, nearly naked and still as a statue, waiting to be sold into the seraglio of the man he had grown to love.

When had he learned to love Obi-Wan? When had it become less important to serve, and more important to believe?

Heat spread across his belly, a different kind of fire than the deep pain he had grown accustomed to, and Xan was drawn back into the present. He hovered near the in-between for a moment, listening to the low speech of men in the throes of crisis. Their urgency made his pulse quicken. They spoke of Obi-Wan, gone to...avenge? Destroy?

The first time he had seen Obi-Wan, he had understood. All that had gone before was but a prelude to what he would know in this man's world. It had been slow to come, and he had doubted that it would ever be what he had hoped, but everything found its purpose. He had been delivered into hell, or so he thought; the clutches of the seraglio-master were no better than those of the auctioneer. He had disembarked warily, hunched and shivering beneath an old cloak. The Regent had seen him there in the line of new acquisitions, and their eyes met for a fraction of a moment before Xan lowered his own gaze.

Such a short connection, but it was enough. There had been no words, only the strong clasp of fingers on his shoulder as he was covered, made warm, led away from brutality and into a place unlike any he had ever imagined.

Words of comfort still echoed in memory. "Tonight, the cold will not bother you any longer," Obi-Wan had whispered, lips against his ear. "You will shiver in ecstasy this night."

Xanatos lifted his head from the pillow. His hand closed around Qui-Gon's wrist in a grasp hard enough to break bones less sturdy. "Where is he?"

"He has gone to eliminate the Sith," Valorum said, his disembodied voice rising from somewhere near the doors.

Xan immediately rejected even the possibility that Obi-Wan would have gone to avenge the injuries done to him, but the silence of the others made brought doubt into the vacuum of information. "He cannot be...so foolish..." Speech failed him. "Not because...of me...or you..."

"He will do what must be done," Qui-Gon said, and the calm of it radiated into Xanatos, a Jedi mind trick of the highest order. As his padawan, Xan had heard him use it many times - on others. "This was only the catalyst for the inevitable."

Xanatos mustered his remaining strength to rise from the bed, but the simple exchange of a look between the two men ended his struggle. Jinn's hand pressed gently against his chest and a powerful sensation of lethargy began to permeate his body.

"Sleep," the Jedi ordered.

Xan fought against it. His thoughts fled once again, lighting at the single point in the darkness where he had felt most useful, where his destiny had been revealed to him. Words he could not have remembered skittered against his consciousness, setting a rhythm in code, like a message all but forgotten. And he saw the eyes that dispatched him to his fate, wide and blue as the oceans of his youth, sad as a mourner's cry.

Darkness overcame him.

*****

The hallways of the immense fortress were as familiar to the ruler of Taganor as the long-forsaken corridors of his childhood home. Obi-Wan Kenobi traversed the path by rote, undeterred by the scattered Sith who fell across his path like so many playthings, easily disposed of and ignored.

He strode at a constant pace through his palace, dropping every soldier who emerged with barely a turn of his face in their direction. He had long known it could be easy to kill without mercy, but the power was harnessed and controlled without effort, and it made him afraid on an elemental level.

It also gave him fuel for his anger, and he pulled it in, allowed the rage to suffuse his being.

Beyond the edges of the boundaries he had erected, he could feel the Jedi pushing insistently at his heart. Obi-Wan pushed back, locking Jinn out, reluctantly cutting him off from everything that was to transpire. He could not afford recriminations, not when so much was at stake. He had made mistakes for which many would pay. This would compound his errors, magnify them beyond repair.

But he would not bear the burden of Jinn's disapproval.

So many things had begun to crumble. His world, his people, his obligations as the overlord of a world he had not chosen to rule - all these things would be sacrificed now, because he had failed. Anakin, the child whose inclinations to lead or to destroy might determine the fate of the galaxy...his young student would have to choose, would have to understand that sometimes, a man could choose, and sometimes, his path was chosen for him.

Obi-Wan had been chosen to be one thing only, and now he was so much to so many. Protector of worlds, of men, of lovers, of children. Defender of the old ways, leader of those who were now enemies of the man he had called master. The thought of that allegiance raised a bilious taste in his mouth. So many choices denied to him...so many freedoms he had, in turn, denied others, out of duty or obligation, and so many paths closed to them all forever.

The image of his favorite, bloody and broken, leapt into his mind. On its heels came the thought of Qui-Gon, executed as an example, the object of public sport, but tortured first for the locations of the remaining Jedi. Obi-Wan's jaw hardened into a set, determined line. His many roles could not be reconciled. He had only one duty, one path entrusted to him from the beginning, and it was time to end the charade.

He could feel the Sith welcoming him, waiting for him, just beyond the doors of the spacious quarters where Chun had set up residence, where he had brutalized Xan. Obi-Wan turned the hilt of the saber in his hand, spinning it swiftly. The metal warmed against his skin as it skimmed his palm, and over the back of his hand; the smooth edges of the power switch lured his thumb closer. He forced his hands to still and dropped the saber to his side without igniting it.

Two guards were slumped in the hallway on either side of the entrance to Chun's quarters; they stirred groggily as they struggled to wake. It was a simple thing to send them back into oblivion, and he did so without thought. The doors to Bruck's quarters opened for him, parting slowly, like the tides of a monstrous, dark sea.

"What took you so long, Kenobi?" The taunt seemed to come from nowhere, and from everywhere. The words dripped with malicious evil. "Was your pet able to warn you? He was so pliant for me. So...accommodating. He loved having my cock up his ass almost as much as I did." Long, low laughter; then, admiringly, "You trained him well. My compliments."

Obi-Wan scanned the shadows inside the room with a practiced eye while his body remained motionless. He slowed his heartbeat and willed the rage in him to simmer, and the tide of emotion receded. "Did you really think you could ever have beaten me, Bruck?" He tilted his head, listening for a response, for the shimmer of auditory motion that would betray Chun's position. "Did you think for a moment that I would not have been the one to sit at the right hand of our master, had I not been called to other duties?"

"You were never my equal." Sharp, and snarled, the denial was hurled like a challenge.

"True. We were not equal. You weren't fit to fight in the same training ring," Obi-Wan scoffed. "Show yourself. Or are you too cowardly even now?"

Something came hurtling out of the darkness, too fast to be anything but a blur; Obi-Wan deciphered its shape as he deflected the small chair to the side. He moved back two paces to take a defensive posture and ignited his lightsaber. Swift and silent, Chun emerged from his quarters, the glow of his saber blade crimson against the white of his hair, and charged.

One strike, two, and ions exploded in the air between them as the blades locked, released, and sought each other again hungrily. Chun's first few strikes hit heavy against Obi-Wan's saber as his defense was tested as it had not been in a very long time. The Regent stepped back and executed a neat maneuver, slicing cleanly down Chun's side, opening flesh and exposing bone. Chun hissed between his teeth and pressed forward, kicking out his front foot and leaping toward his enemy.

"You haven't learned much, have you?" Obi-Wan mocked him. A feral smile lit Chun's face in response, and Obi-Wan could feel his own teeth bared in an answering grin. This was what he had once craved: the life of a warrior, in service to his own conscience and a code of behavior that could not be violated; the constant, delicious taste of power in his hands, ready to be unleashed with a single cut of the saber.

He slashed sideways, tracking Chun's movements and mirroring them in reverse, and in the pleasure he felt, his path seemed clear. He had become a hybrid of his desires and his duties, of the worlds he inhabited; half of each, but wholly neither.

Chun's red blade rose, then fell, always countered quickly by the cool green of Obi-Wan's blade. Time seemed to slow for Obi-Wan as they circled each other, two alphas grappling for leadership of their pack, both incapable of surrender and willing to die before accepting defeat.

"You are clumsy, Oafy-Wan," Chun said, as though the past could still be alive in the moment. With graceful counterpoint to his words, he rose in an arcing leap and kicked Obi-Wan square in the chest. Obi-Wan fell light against the ground and rose again, rolling easily to his feet. "You are awkward," Chun added, and landed two blows - first his fist, against Obi-Wan's jaw; then the blade of his saber, slashing across Obi-Wan's stomach.

Obi-Wan arched back like a fellinoid. His quick movement was all that saved him from evisceration. The dark fabric of his tunic opened under the saber blade as the tip of the blade scorched his skin but he did not betray his pain. His saber moved into the space vacated by his body, sweeping down and across the Sith's chest, cutting more deeply that Chun's saber had cut. "I *was* clumsy," he said, and raised the hilt of his weapon to smash it into Chun's jaw. He waited for Chun to stagger upright again as he sought and met Chun's eyes. "But I am not that boy any longer."

They stood and stared at one another for a fraction of a moment before rejoining the battle. With quick, long strides, Obi-Wan stepped into the fray, cutting and taking ground, earning territory with each offensive strike. He whirled into the air over Chun's head, saber spinning in emerald circles, and dropped behind Chun to cut deeply across his back.

Chun shouted and turned, suddenly less graceful as pain and desperation began to destroy his sure technique. Obi-Wan saw his chance to strike a killing blow, but he had decided the course of things before the fight had even begun, and stepped away. He dodged Chun's determined lunge and cut cleanly down the length of Chun's primary fighting arm. A deep, horrible burn opened, bubbling with blisters and cauterized at the source. Chun clutched his weapon with weakened fingers and backed away, looking for another weapon to hurl.

Obi-Wan raised his hand and flicked his fingers in the direction of the closed chamber doors. They opened for him, and the contents of the room spewed forth, hailing down on Chun. With haphazard control of the Force, Chun deflected the rain of luxurious debris, but he was brought to his knees by the effort of it, and Obi-Wan made his move. One quick thrust of the saber, straight through the shoulder, severing muscle and tendons, making it impossible for Chun to continue fighting.

With a gasp, Chun dropped his saber. Obi-Wan kicked it away and dropped to one knee. He extinguished his own blade. "You are not my equal," he said softly, smiling into Chun's apprehension. With a snap of his wrist, he tossed his saber away. "You are nothing."

His first blow landed square on the point of Chun's jaw. His enemy fell, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Obi-Wan allowed him no respite. His fists rained down over Chun's body, across his enemy's chest, face, arms, sides. Blood spattered Obi-Wan's bare arms and patterned the floor beneath; still, the Regent did not stop.

Obi-Wan remembered every bit of the pain he had suffered among the Sith, and he brought it all to the surface, a tidal wave of horrors just waiting to be avenged. He could remember crawling on the floor, groveling at the feet of the drill master, being beaten for his transgression - for refusing to maim Chun after besting him in a sparring match - and the echo of Chun's laughter seared his heart.

He raised Chun in the air with one hand, bringing him closer, and began breaking bones with deliberation. The collarbone first, and then a pull to the injured shoulder, dislocating it.

Chun howled his outrage and pain, and Obi-Wan smiled as the thrill of satisfaction spread through his heart.

He remembered hours upon days of living in darkness, without food, without warmth, as punishment for failing to complete a training drill, a drill in which Chun had sent him sprawling after offering his hand. The memory begged satisfaction, and Obi-Wan delivered four hard, swift punches to the torso, breaking ribs beneath every blow.

Chun gasped for air; Obi-Wan pulled him upright. "Did you think you would ever possess what is mine?" he asked gently, drawing a finger down a blooded cheek. "What a fool you were to underestimate me. Look what it has cost you."

With a sharp twist, Obi-Wan snapped the bones of Chun's upper arms, first the left, then the right. Tears of rage leaked from the Sith's eyes. "Hate has no compassion," Obi-Wan mocked him, evoking words spoken in the distant past, the taunts of others who were never kind, who would tolerate no weakness. He flicked the watery plea away with his bare fingers. "Hate is our ally. Hate is power. Hate is...your undoing."

Chun butted his head weakly at Obi-Wan's chest, a futile effort without strength, an agonized final appeal.

"No, no," Obi-Wan said tenderly. He pressed a kiss to Chun's forehead and dropped Chun to the floor like a sack of rubbish. He turned away from the strangled sounds emerging from the bruised throat. "Don't beg. A Sith Lord should never beg. He should meet his fate with dignity, as he has been taught. *Be silent*." With a small smile, he raised his hand and pressed his fingers together.

Noises rose behind him, the scrabbling sounds of death. Obi-Wan closed his hand, slowly, in tiny increments. There was choking, the horrible bubbling of a last breath, and then finally, nothing more.

Obi-Wan opened his hand and stood without moving for a long moment. Slowly, like an old man, he squatted down next to the body, looking at the grotesque mask of death, and buried his face in his hands. Heel of hand to tired eyes, he ground his exhaustion into temporary submission, and quietly waited for rational thought to reassert itself.

Tiny lights blinking on the comm console drew Obi-Wan's attention. He stared at them for a moment, then closed his eyes. He drew his focus down into the center of his being and listened to the sound of his own heartbeat, steady and sure, strong and regular. The tension in his arms and hands dwindled away. His body began to release the stored anger, to discard the reserves of rage he had bottled up for this confrontation. His mind cleared.

Focus restored, emotion banished, he rose to his feet and reached down for the body. He towed the corpse behind him into Chun's quarters, then threw it squarely in the center of the floor and left it without another look.

He turned his attention to the console. A message waited, stored in the communications queue. Without retrieving it, he keyed in his personal code and traced its origins to a ship 8.8 light years distant. The ship was still too far away for identification, but there was an Imperial communications tag trailing the end of the message.

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath and skimmed back through all communications logs stored in the local database. He played back the content of Chun's conversation with the Emperor in its entirety, pausing long enough to pull up the confidential records Chun had examined so carefully. Faces of Imperial enemies flashed by on the screen - men and women from dozens of worlds across the galaxy, from every walk of life.

Special enemies were flagged in a separate file. Here Obi-Wan found the Jedi, those who were presumed dead or who were known to have been killed by the Empire, and those who remained alive to spread their messages of discontent throughout the Empire. All information had been obtained from the files of the destroyed Temple on Coruscant, which were badly damaged and incomplete; the database made clear that there were others alive, but unidentified or completely unknown. Entire units had been dispatched with the sole purpose of rooting out and destroying the Jedi wherever they were known to exist.

Obi-Wan's finger tapped down on the controls several times, and his eyes lingered on every file. He read none of the details, but merely looked at the faces, and counted the survivors.

In yet another file, he found evidence carefully accumulated by the Imperial Inquisitors and sifted through it. There was a budding rebellion in progress, complete with local leaders and cells of activity. Details were unclear. Imperial spies had been caught and killed on a number of worlds by civilians who had then vanished into thin air, never to be seen again. There had been attacks on ammunition dumps, on ports and stations where Imperial ships and supplies were stored, on trade routes and supply lines. All information regarding these activities had been suppressed by the Empire, for fear a rebellion might begin in earnest if hope for freedom should begin to spread among the conquered.

One face jumped out at him from the short list of known leaders. Bail Organa. Obi-Wan scanned back through the files of Jedi, and found him there. Jedi Knight. Rogue. Traitor to the Code.

He entered his personal code and secured an internal channel. "Valorum."

"Here," came the immediate response.

"Come to Chun's quarters. Be discreet, but hurry. There are useful files in the database we must copy and purge." He hesitated for a moment. "Prepare my personal guard. Arm them as we discussed. Make my ship ready for travel, but be very careful, Valorum. No one is to know we are planning a departure."

"Your councilors?"

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Most especially not my councilors. I'll handle Anakin myself when the time is right. Disarm all surveillance devices in the palace and prepare to disable the comm system. Make certain Maul does not get wind of this. We can trust no one here."

"Understood."

**

Obi-Wan made his way to his quarters warily, looking for any signs that an alarm had been raised. Miraculously, his battle with Chun had drawn no attention - most of those who might have intervened had been felled as Obi-Wan approached Chun's quarters. There were too many dead Sith strewn about in the halls and corridors; his first instruction to Valorum had included a small team of men to clear away the bodies and debris.

His mind worked incessantly on the problem at hand, the problem that he could no longer solve through his tenuous control of either men or machines. They were all in danger, and if the Sith regiments arrived before he could gather his men and evacuate the palace, they would all die - Xanatos, Jinn, Valorum, and any others he had not managed to remove from harm's way. His fault, and no way around that fact. His responsibility; his burden to carry, and one he could no longer shoulder alone.

He had given in to impulse, justified it with rationalization, and now the course for all of them was irrevocably set. They would never know if he could have persuaded the Emperor, or if Anakin could have naturally become the leader he was born to be. Taganor would fall to one of the many Sith Lords waiting for a berth in the ever-expanding Empire, and the citizens would starve, and die. And those slaves unfortunate enough to remain in the seraglio, slaves he had intended to free upon his death - they would be butchered, or sold again into harsh servitude.

All was lost, because of him. He had failed.

There would be a thousand questions, and he would have to provide explanations. Even now, he could feel Qui-Gon's urgent curiosity, his burning need to understand. That would be the first conversation; he would satisfy that thirst to know, and assuage the Force-driven pounding in his skull. Beyond that, there were plans to make, contingencies to solidify. If his calculations were correct, the data in Bruck's console indicated the Sith would take less than one day to reach Taganor. They would have to hurry.

He stopped before the door of his quarters, taking a deep, exhausted breath and holding it, then exhaling, centering himself. Just a little longer, to keep up appearances, to show his strength, and then he could try to remember what he had been in the beginning.

Just a little longer.

He keyed his personal code and entered the anteroom. As he approached the inner rooms, the door slid open, and Qui-Gon met him there, concern blazing in the blue eyes, along with something Obi-Wan was too tired to acknowledge.

"Excellency. Are you all right?"

Obi-Wan nodded. He reached for goblet and pitcher, and poured a glass of water to ease the words that seemed stuck in his throat. "Chun is dead. Was Valorum here when I summoned him?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon reached out a hand, and Obi-Wan allowed it settle on his shoulders without protest. "You are injured. Let me help you."

"I need no assistance," Obi-Wan said sharply, drawing back.

The hand remained fixed in place as Qui-Gon's eyes darkened. Obi-Wan watched truth bleed into those eyes and waited for the words that would reflect that truth. Quietly, Qui-Gon said, "You are not speaking to a slave any longer."

Obi-Wan tilted his head up, met Qui-Gon's eyes, and opened the bond. As the full impact of his emotional state flooded into Qui-Gon's awareness, he saw the effect of it, felt the visceral reaction to the tide of love and doubt, blood lust and regret, and slowly, he shut it down, like the damming of a waterfall. Qui-Gon's hand tightened on his shoulder.

Obi-Wan raised his hand and touched the long fingers of the Jedi. "The Emperor is on his way. At most, we have a day. If we are not off this world by sunset, we will die, or be enslaved. Palpatine will not tolerate the death of his most trusted minion. This is the end of everything, and we must act quickly."

"What can I do?"

"Once Valorum is finished disposing of Chun's body, he will begin arming my men. You may be helpful in this." Obi-Wan's mind was racing, leading him down paths he had long ago prepared to travel. "There are a few men in the seraglio who may be useful, and whose lives are...important to me. You know my favorites?"

"Daro, the twins, and Ket'al," Qui-Gon said, sure of this one piece of information as he was sure of little else.

"Yes. Arm them. Tell them the cost of joining us aboard ship. If they remain behind, they will not be treated kindly, but they will live."

"That life is not a life worth living, if they are sold into slavery for the Sith," Qui-Gon said. Bitterness crept into his tone.

"Then you must convince them. In this way, you can help me." Obi-Wan looked past Qui-Gon, at the closed doors behind him, and finally allowed himself to ask the question that had preoccupied him since he had first gone to meet the Sith in battle. "How is Xanatos?"

"Sleeping. He will recover. He is...I was able to heal the majority of his injuries."

Gratefully, Obi-Wan nodded, and his heart signaled his thanks through the bond. "Return to your quarters in the harem. I will join you there to give you the information you will need. There is much to explain, and we have little time." Obi-Wan paused for a moment, then added, "Do what you must to arrive safely, and let no one question you."

With a slight bow, Qui-Gon was on his way. Obi-Wan watched his departure with an odd mix of apprehension and complete trust. His mind began to race again through the thousand aspects of the task at hand. If he thought back, he could remember a time when all of this had seemed like a distant, impossible dream. He had been so young, and so many things were still distant and unimaginable. His master had warned him that one day, his world would disintegrate around him, and all he would have left was the Force, and his own indomitable will. It was the reason he was chosen.

But he had been fortunate; he had much more than just those simple things.

He keyed the door and entered the bedchamber. In the semi-darkness, Xan's outline was barely visible in the bed; he was wrapped in blankets, sleeping peacefully. Obi-Wan approached silently, undoing the fastenings of his belt as he walked. His belt came loose in his hands, and he slung it over a chair, pausing only to run his fingertips over the cool surface of the lightsaber.

Obi-Wan stood by the bedside, looking at Xan, filling his eyes with the pale beauty of the man he loved.

With due caution, he climbed into the bed, slipping his arms around Xan's still form, reveling in the warmth of his body, the soft exhalations of breath. Xan, alive, breathing, warm and alive, and oh, how close they had come, how much he had nearly lost in service to his duty.

It would not happen again.

He buried his face in the curve of Xan's shoulder and closed his eyes. In the silence, he listened to the sound of Xan breathing, let the sound become his world, and for a time, every other horror retreated into the background. There was only Xan, and he held his lover closer, soothed by his warmth, by his presence.

*****

Qui-Gon paced the spacious quarters he had been given. He was no longer a prisoner; that much was clear. Yet he was not free to leave, and would never be, as long as the bond existed.

It was not easy, this knowing, the understanding that Obi-Wan would sacrifice his own life for Xanatos. The Regent would expect the same from Qui-Gon, but for completely different reasons. One man he loved; the other was bound to him in service. Still, their bond pulsed with life. The Force was compelling him in ways he had never believed possible, and he was at a loss to understand.

Obi-Wan had opened the bond for only the briefest moment, had allowed Qui-Gon to share his fears and sacrifices. Like a supernova, he had understood the magnitude of Obi-Wan's determination not to allow any more pain for those he cared about. It was an illuminating moment, as they connected through that bond.

He had to know. And he was aware Obi-Wan was on his way, bringing the information he craved. The thought of it filled him with an odd sort of dread.

Moments later the doors slid open, and Obi-Wan walked through. His posture was tense, almost rigid, in contrast with the deep weariness in his eyes. He nodded to Qui-Gon and dropped his weapon on the table; the lightsaber clattered across its smooth surface, glittering in the light.

Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan approached the open terrace doors and stopped, absorbing the sounds of the night. Somehow, everything seemed alive, awake, and Qui-Gon understood: this was the last time Obi-Wan would hear these sounds.

He was capturing the memory, to take with him.

Softly, Qui-Gon asked the question. "Who are you?"

Obi-Wan's face changed subtly; he stared out into the night, and folded his arms across his chest. "When I was a small boy, men came to my mother's house. They asked me questions, gave me tests. Things I didn't understand. I tried to please them because I understood it was what they wanted, but I knew my mother was frightened. Imperial spies were everywhere. No one was safe." He paused, and turned to look at Qui-Gon with immense sadness in his eyes. "She was killed, not long after. This was still a world consumed by slavery and greed, in those days. She never had a chance."

Qui-Gon accepted the pain he could feel pouring from Obi-Wan and enfolded it in understanding. He said nothing; he merely looked at Obi-Wan, and made no attempt to hide his own feelings. The bond between them was open and clear, filled with the light of wordless communication.

With a brief nod, Obi-Wan continued. "They were satisfied with my performance. They gave my mother compensation and took me away. I don't remember much from those early years, just a great deal of sadness. I was taken from everything I knew. Almost from birth, I was given to understand that I was going to be the savior of my world, and perhaps of the freedom of the Old Republic. There was always instruction. Tests, training, endless sessions with my master. There was never a moment I was alone with my own thoughts. Always too much to learn, and never enough time." Obi-Wan paused.

Qui-Gon caught his breath. "Then you are..." He could not bring himself to say it. It seemed impossible, not within the realm of reality.

Obi-Wan smiled slightly. "My master told me once that there would be a moment I would have to sacrifice something dear to me, in order to preserve the things I was sworn to protect. It has not been as easy as I once believed." He turned to Qui-Gon, truth blazing in his eyes. "I am like you, Jedi. I am of your order."

"You are a Jedi." The words seemed to take on a life of their own, and as he spoke them, Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan's relief.

"Yes." Obi-Wan drew a deep, heavy breath, and tension seemed to dissolve from his body. "There were Jedi who foresaw the coming fall of the Temple and the destruction of the Order; they feared the Jedi would scatter throughout the galaxy. Thus they created other places to learn, to train. The Jedi who were with my master hid me away on a tiny moon on the far side of the galaxy, in a place the Sith would bother with only after they had swept the rest of the galaxy clean. I had no master classes, no wisdom of Jedi who had come before me to rely on. There was only my master, and those few who were recruited to train with me and protect me." Obi-Wan faltered for a moment; he seemed to be in the throes of a memory, and deep loneliness emanated from him into the bond he shared with Qui-Gon.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then continued, "When I was taken, I was trained to be above the temptations of flesh, to remain removed from the torments of average men. Every moment of my training focused on the avoidance of passion, on the discipline to resist anger, to avoid temptation. I was trained to go among the Sith, to take my place among their ranks. The plan they devised was a simple one; I would become the best of my kind, and thus the best among them. I would earn Palpatine's favor and once close to the Emperor, I would kill him. My life was nothing, in the scheme of things."

"You were trained to withstand Imperial influences?" Respect crept into Qui-Gon's tone, and colored the bond. "I heard plans of this nature discussed among members of the Council when they met in exile, but I did not imagine anything would come of them. The Council did not dare to meet often enough for their plans to coalesce. I would not have believed it to be possible, that anyone could avoid turning under those conditions. It must have been....unbearable for you," Qui-Gon said. He watched Obi-Wan's eyes, saw the storms of memory there.

"The Force is strong with me, stronger than any of the Jedi I trained with, and my master knew I would be chosen by the Sith to become a part of their order. He foresaw it. He believed that if I distinguished myself among the Sith, I would eventually be taken by Palpatine as his apprentice." Obi-Wan rested his head against the palm of his hand for a moment, then rubbed his eyes tiredly once again.

"Sith methods are grounded in understanding and acceptance of the Dark Side. How did you...?" Qui-Gon left the question unfinished, because there was no way to ask it.

"I was not made a Sith apprentice. I undertook their training and caught the eye of the Emperor, but the focus of my assignment changed as I was in the midst of it all."

"They found Anakin?"

"Yes. He was the unforseen circumstance." Obi-Wan turned away from the window and looked at Qui-Gon. His face seemed old, shadowed by regret. "It could not be avoided. I had blood ties to the child, and he was the Chosen One, or so they all thought. When it was decided I would infiltrate the Sith, it was assumed I would make my way through the ranks until my family position brought me to the Emperor's attention. But here was the perfect situation, one they could not have engineered any better even if they had tried. Here on Taganor, I would be in a position to turn the child, to see that he was not unduly influenced by the Sith and their dark ways."

"And in the process, save Taganor from the Empire as well," Qui-Gon surmised.

Obi-Wan nodded. "So the purpose I was to serve changed, but to the same end. I was able to maneuver myself into position to oversee their Chosen One, to ensure there would be no apprentice to the Emperor. If I had tried and failed to kill Palpatine, the child would still be there, waiting to be made into a tool of the Darkness. He could prove to be more powerful than the Emperor himself. But with me to guide Anakin, it was hoped there would be no need to sacrifice Jedi in attempts to assassinate Palpatine."

A short, impatient breath, and then Obi-Wan shrugged. "It made no difference to me. I did what I was told." Another short pause, then, "I survived the Sith. But something in me changed. I became more like them. Ruthless. I used power to my best advantage." He fell silent for a moment, then continued, "I surrendered to the need for power, and I never looked back." Obi-Wan's eyes shifted to the window and he stared out into the night. "Until you arrived."

Denial came forth immediately, and Qui-Gon said, "The Force sings in you. There is no Darkness in you, my lord."

Obi-Wan turned on him, anger written plainly in his eyes. "I am not your lord," he said savagely. "You are free. You have been free since the moment I killed Chun. I am not even your equal, Jedi. I was not made a Knight. I have had no apprentice. I have failed the only mission I was set." Disgusted, he slammed a hand into the wall. "And because of me, this world will die, and Anakin will turn."

"There is still a chance he will not turn." Qui-Gon went to him then and reached out with a steady hand. His fingers traced the small scar on Obi-Wan's jaw, slowly, almost reverently. "You may yet convince him to leave this world with you, and if you can do so, he can be trained in the ways of the Jedi."

"You have seen him use the Force, Qui-Gon. You have felt his power, his command of the Force. Do you really believe it will be so simple?" Skeptical and knowing, Obi-Wan's eyes plainly showed his doubt. "Since Chun's arrival, I sense less confusion in Anakin. There's more determination, more arrogance. He is still young, but I believe his path is set." Obi-Wan turned his face toward the gentle touch against his cheek. "There are only two options."

"You will persuade him," Qui-Gon said. His hand remained rested at the juncture of neck and shoulder, as his thumb mapped the strong muscles knotted there.

"We will see." As he had done before, Obi-Wan rested his hand atop Qui-Gon's, and stilled the motion of his fingers. They remained that way, touching gently, until Obi-Wan stepped away. "I will collect Xanatos and Anakin. You will see to the men of the harem? I can do little else; there is not enough room-"

"You needn't explain." Qui-Gon cut him off. "Where can I obtain weapons?"

"You know where Chun's quarters are?" At Qui-Gon's nod, Obi-Wan keyed the comm console.

"Valorum."

"I am sending the Jedi to you. Give him four weapons."

"Yes, Excellency."

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon's lightsaber. "Will you require additional weapons?" Qui-Gon smiled, amused. Obi-Wan smiled in return and closed the communications channel. "Bring them to the ship as soon as you can. Be cautious, but as I said before - let no one stop or question you."

"We will be there."

*****

Ket'al's hands roamed absently up and down the broad back of his lover, but his eyes were trained on the door. Something was wrong. He could feel it tingling in his bones. The entire palace was crackling with tension. There were rumors among the slaves that there had been trouble elsewhere in the palace, that the Regent was in danger of losing his position. If that were to happen...the consequences would be horrific for them all.

He shifted in the bed and moved closer to Mathius. One arm snaked across Mathius' back as he pressed a kiss to the smooth skin of the other man's shoulder, then rested his chin there. Xanatos had gone to Chun earlier that evening. It was nothing the rest of them had not done on more than one occasion. It was, after all, their duty to entertain their master's guests. There had never been a question about it, until this night. Xanatos was the unquestioned favorite, and Obi-Wan rarely allowed his current favorite to share the bed of another. It was disturbing to see the balance of power shifting so rapidly.

Voices sounded in the corridor, moving closer. Daro, and someone else, and they were speaking animatedly. "Mathius," Ket'al whispered. "Get up."

"What is it?" his lover answered in a low voice, still heavy with sleep, as he swung his legs to the floor and threw the sheets aside.

"Something is happening in the courtyard." Even as he spoke, Ket'al watched the door slide open, and Daro stepped through. Something flew at him from the darkness; instinct caused Ket'al to reach out for the blurry shape and catch it in midair. The unfamiliar feel of a laser blaster in his hand made his heart beat faster, and he exchanged an amazed look with Mathius.

"Get up, let's go!" Daro's eyes glittered with excitement in the half-light.

"What the -" Mathius took the blaster from his hand. "This is a working blaster! Where did you get it?"

"From me," came a voice from the corridor, the one Ket'al had been trying to identify. Qui-Gon stepped in behind Daro and tossed another blaster to Ket'al. "We have to move quickly. Do you know how to work one of those?"

"Yes," Ket'al said, and his fingers were exploring the blaster with fluid competence to prove his point.

"We are going. Now. I don't have time to explain. But you must all be prepared to use these, if need be. If anyone tries to stop us between here and the docking bay." Qui-Gon met each of their eyes, and looked behind him at Leyran, who hovered in the doorway. "Understood?"

"But Kenobi-" Mathius began.

"-will meet us there!" Daro answered gleefully. "That's the best part. He's setting us free."

"I don't understand," Ket'al muttered in disbelief. His world was spinning on its axis, and he felt suddenly as though he were about to be thrown off into nothingness.

"There's no time for explanations. It will all become clear to you once we are on board. There is danger for you if you follow me, but you must believe me when I say that if you remain behind, you will wish you were dead. Let's go." Qui-Gon gestured to the door.

Hastily, they pulled on clothes and scrambled for boots and cloaks. In moments, they were moving through the corridors, following the Jedi's lead. The place was deserted, but signs of waking were everywhere; Sith and Imperial troops were scattered about, and were easily dispatched by the Jedi with simple Force tricks. Ket'al had seen Kenobi use those tricks before, but he was still amazed by the power of the Jedi.

They rounded the corner near the docking bay, and Qui-Gon pressed them back as he looked ahead. "Remember what I said," he instructed them. They nodded. In a single-file line, they crept with him towards the doors.

Qui-Gon pulled up short and gestured to them all to stay behind him; Ket'al raised the blaster as the bay doors opened without being triggered. As light from the bay flooded into the corridor, Maul stepped through, trailing ten Imperial soldiers.

"You will surrender your weapons to me," Maul said pleasantly, softly. "Now."


	13. Eclipse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin must make a choice. Sorrow comes as the group attempts to leave the planet. The balance of power shifts in many different ways.

So many fine pieces of clothing, and so few of them had been worn. Xanatos rifled through the wardrobe of the Regent of Taganor and selected out dark trousers and a silken tunic of an ivory hue. A small smile lifted his lips; the Regent always preferred simple garb, without frills and gilding. Yet there were dozens of outfits of the richest silks and linens, heavy brocades, in reds, golds, greens, blues. Hues becoming to copper hair and fair skin. All gathering dust.

Rather like a seraglio, full of beautiful tribute slaves and acquisitions, seldom used, all but forgotten, aside from those treasured few, the favorites, most comfortable. Appearances had to be maintained.

Wincing a bit, Xan drew on the trousers and fastened them, then slid the tunic over his head. It caught momentarily on his bracelet as the fine fabric descended down his arms; he shook it loose, a movement which brought a sharp stab of pain from his ribs. He wrapped one arm around his waist to catch the breath that seemed to have fled his lungs.

He was acutely aware that he should not be alive. Were it Obi-Wan on the bed, broken and near dead, he would not have had the strength to heal the Regent; his own injuries had been just that severe, and he spared a moment to thank the Force for the presence of his former master and his healing skills. Qui-Gon had tipped the balance between life and death, but even his skills were not enough to undo all the damage. Xan leaned back as the pain subsided.

Xanatos scanned the room for the small box containing Obi-Wan's five custom-forged daggers. He would need only one.

The box was resting on a low table near the balcony doors, where wines and fruit still waited to please the palate. He lifted a small yellow fruit to his lips and devoured it in three bites, making a face at the sour taste as he looked over the daggers. They were all of superior quality, but one of them was plain, with an unadorned hilt, and its own scabbard. Xan wiped the juice from his fingers and lifted the blade from its resting place, but left the scabbard behind. He tucked the dagger safely into his tunic, where the metal rested cold against his skin.

Cold metal...unlike the band of ownership around his arm, the dagger seemed to suck heat from his skin, leaving him chilled. He supposed he would become used to the feel of it, since he didn't intend to remove it until he had need of it. There were many things a man could become used to.

Another sharp pain jabbed violently at his ribs, stealing more air, hitching his breath. He conceded to the pain and sat down just for a moment so he could rest. He was still healing, but his body was in rebellion, protesting clearly against his injuries. He folded his arms across his ribs and lay back on the soft coverlet of the bed, which was tangled beneath him. He could smell Obi-Wan's presence in those soft sheets and it sent a pang of longing through him, one he immediately pushed away from his thoughts. Sentimentality did not belong in this place, this den of slavery where there had been so much evil. There would be time later to reflect on the tides that were changing beneath his very feet.

With slow fingers, he traced the smooth lines of his slave bracelet. Cold metal, warm to the touch now, nearly unnoticed in the many days since it had first been placed on his arm. In those first days, he had been so conscious of its presence; like a fire brand, it had seemed a thing alive, consuming him, keeping him awake through the long nights with the Regent asleep beside him. He had been forced to focus on the here and now and to dismiss both the past on Coruscant, and the promising future buried beneath the rubble of the Temple, buried along with the galaxy's shattered peace. For truly, his future had been altered forever, and all paths closed to him save one.

He could feel the massive disturbance in the Force, its subtle aura changing from moment to moment. Of one thing, he was certain; Chun was dead. There had been no one in the room to tell him so, just as there had been no one to instruct him to remain in Obi-Wan's quarters until he was sent for. Nevertheless, he knew. The darkness that had surrounded Chun had been blasted open, stripped clean in the light, but evil remained, growing stronger in the void of Chun's death. If he could sense it, he wondered about the others.

And he wondered about the boy, who would one day stand at the right hand of the Emperor.

Xan sat up, then stood cautiously, testing his range of motion. With the right control, his movement would not be too impaired. He closed his eyes and centered himself. Obi-Wan had not sent for him, and the temptation to find his master was strong.

My master, he thought, and closed his eyes. For no matter what the outcome on this world, he would no longer be physically enslaved, but there were other ways a man might find himself in chains.

He heard the doors open and though he did not turn, he tucked his hand inside his tunic, where his fingers sought the haft of the dagger.

"Face me," came the soft command, and the voice washed over him gently. Xan turned then, to face Obi-Wan, to see the way his eyes absorbed Xan's presence, to see him locate and dismiss each wound in turn, satisfied that they were healing. "I had not thought to see you on your feet so soon. It's a welcome sight."

"I owe my teacher much," Xan answered. He dropped his hand to his side. "I will not be a burden to you in what is to come."

"I have much to explain to you." Obi-Wan crossed the room, to stop inches away from Xan. His hands lifted, cradled Xan's face, tracing the healed and still healing marks and bruises there.

"There is no need."

Obi-Wan straightened and regarded Xan with an expression the older man could not read. "Everything will change, once we have left this world."

"Things will be as they are meant to be, Obi-Wan Kenobi." Xanatos covered Obi-Wan's hands with his own, as his master leaned in close. His lips parted for the half-brutal kiss, a kiss that scorched him with its echoes of bitter knowledge.

"You can travel, then?" Obi-Wan asked, his lips close to Xan's ear. Xanatos closed his eyes and nodded.

"I will manage."

"We must meet the others quickly, or there will be no chance to leave this world in peace. Come. I must find Anakin."

******

"What has been tampered with?" Valorum bent down to speak to the technician, whose body had disappeared into the cubby beneath the navigation controls. Only his feet protruded from the opening, sliding around at random intervals as the technician maneuvered around.

"Some parts of the navigation and power systems are damaged, sir. It's sabotage."

Valorum took a deep breath. Best just to ask the question, and deal with the answer. "Can it be repaired quickly?"

"We stock replacement parts on board; I can have this up and running in no time."

"I certainly hope your estimate is accurate, young man. Because we don't have any time to spare." Valorum watched the man wriggle out of the small crawl space. "Take as many men as you need and get it done. We must be ready to lift off at any moment."

"Sir." Valorum turned his head at the tone in the captain's voice. "There's a disturbance outside."

Valorum moved to the viewscreen and watched as the external camera revealed the Regent's own security force surrounding the ship. "Are the doors secure?"

"For the moment, yes sir. No one saw us board the ship."

"How many men are on board, Captain?"

"Ten or so, sir. All the men you named."

"Very well. Then we will wait. For now." Valorum looked once more at the viewscreen. "Make sure everyone is armed. We may have to....disembark."

******

On the opposite side of the bay doors, Qui-Gon Jinn took the measure of the man whose malevolent yellow eyes were fixed upon him. The doors closed slowly and clanged shut, a hollow sound in this empty place.

"You will surrender your weapons to me," Maul said pleasantly, softly. "Now." He gestured to the men lined up behind him; they raised their blasters as one, like an efficient machine, all the parts working in an orderly fashion.

"On the contrary. *You* will surrender your weapons to *me*. Order your men to do so, now." Qui-Gon spoke the words in the same pleasant tone Maul had used moments before. He gestured to Ket'al, and the men behind him retreated to the protection of the pillars lining the corridor.

Maul's face cracked into a repugnant grin. "Don't bother with your mind tricks, Jedi. Can you not feel it? This place is ruled by Darkness now. Your days of wielding the Force for your own purposes has come to an end. You and all the other Jedi traitors will know this, soon."

"Then let us cease talking," Qui-Gon said, and reached for his saber. Maul raced forward amidst a sudden hail of blaster fire, and launched himself at Qui-Gon like a dark wraith, snarling with purposeful rage. Faster than those looking on could see, just a blur of motion, and the two men were locked together in combat.

Ket'al pushed Daro to the ground. "Stay here!" he hissed. "Be ready to run when I call for you!"

"In your dreams," Daro hissed back. "Do I look stupid to you?"

Ket'al grinned at him. "Then move when I tell you!"

"Traded one master for another," Daro grumbled under his breath, but he lifted his blaster obediently.

The slaves crouched behind the pillars, transfixed by the sight of the Jedi struggling with his opponent on the ground. Ket'al nodded to Mathius, who in turn nodded at his brother, and they darted forward, taking shelter from the small protection of the pillars. Blaster fire ricocheted off walls, pillars, and the polished floor as the four men edged closer to the landing bay doors, one pillar at a time.

In the midst of it all, Qui-Gon grappled with Maul. His lightsaber clattered to the floor, deactivated. Maul's strength was beyond what Qui-Gon had expected; he could feel the tremendous Darkness in his enemy as they rolled across the floor. He called upon the Force, let it flow through him, and directed that power at Maul. He was rewarded with success as Maul's eyes widened and his body was launched through the air.

The shadow guard landed on his feet; Qui-Gon wasted no time in calling his lightsaber to his hand. The blade sprang to life.

Mathius and Ket'al moved forward in tandem, taking careful aim when they could, firing out of sheer terror when nothing else remained to be done. There were short screams when their aim was true, and Leyran and Daro crept behind as they covered one another. The distance was short, but crossing it felt interminable to them all.

"Almost there!" Mathius cried, and motioned Leyran and Daro forward with a wave of his arm as he fired the blaster toward the crouching Imperial guards. Mathius and Ket'al hunkered down next to the control panel of the landing bay and triggered the doors open; the blaster fire increased.

Daro and Leyran laid down fire, some of it accurate, but the rain of return fire pushed them back and held them in place.

"Daro!" Ket'al shouted for him, and Leyran turned to echo the call, as he fired again and again to shield the young man's sprint for the door. With a grim look on his face, Daro tugged at Leyran, and the two of them sprinted forward. The chaotic spray of blaster fire intensified, and then lightning struck. Without a sound, Leyran dropped to the ground, forever oblivious to his brother's agonized cry of grief. Daro turned to look, and grief manifested in his posture as he turned away and threw himself toward the landing bay doors.

"Leyran!" Mathius cried, and lunged forward, but Ket'al wrapped his arms around Mathius. "Let me go to him!"

"If you do, you'll die too," Ket'al shouted. "I won't lose you!" He pulled Mathius back by force, propelling him through the doors of the landing bay. "We have to go. Now!"

Anguish contorted Mathius' face as he stared at his brother's body. With a last look at the Jedi and at Leyran, the three slaves disappeared into the landing bay, pursued by the few Imperial guards still alive.

Qui-Gon swung around to see Leyran fall, then turned back within the space of an instant, to repel two glowing saber-stars. They bounced off the blade of his saber, destroyed, and with a sudden flash of insight, Qui-Gon remembered what Obi-Wan had told him, the story of the first attack on Anakin, the assassin who nearly killed the Regent with saber-stars.

"You," Qui-Gon hissed.

"Yes, Jedi," Maul answered, and that same repulsive smile split his face again. "Yes."

*****

Obi-Wan and Xanatos made their way through the hallways with great haste; Obi-Wan could sense Anakin's location, though he could not be precise. Once he stopped, searching with his senses, until Xanatos laid a hand on his arm and pointed toward the practice rooms. "Can you not feel it?" he whispered, his eyes troubled.

Obi-Wan gave a curt nod and together, the two men approached the doors. "Stay behind me," Obi-Wan instructed. "He no longer trusts me as he once did. We must not alarm him before I can persuade him."

"And if you can't persuade him?" Xan asked. Obi-Wan turned to look at Xan.

"Can you use the Force to subdue him, if that is what must be done?" Obi-Wan asked.

The urgency of the question was not lost on Xanatos, who answered, "I will do what I can."

The practice area was deserted, save for Anakin and his guard; Anakin was standing next to the window, watching the thick clouds as they gathered in the sky. The air was wet with the smell of heavy rain ready to fall. Obi-Wan approached cautiously, hyper-aware of the Force being out of balance. He shielded his own worry, set aside the feeling that time was bearing down on them, and approached his young student. "Anakin."

The guards had all turned at his approach, but Anakin remained immobile, staring out at the sky. "I knew you were coming," the boy said distantly. "I felt it."

"That is not so unusual," Obi-Wan said, smiling. "But I have not come to practice today."

"You brought your slave," Anakin said, and when he looked at Xanatos, there was indifference in his glance. "Why do you have your slave with you?"

Obi-Wan dropped to one knee and laid his hands on Anakin's shoulders. "We are going to be taking a trip, Anakin. You must trust me. You'll need to come with me now."

"Why?" Suspicion crept into the boy's tone. "Why would you be leaving?" His eyes darted back and forth, from Obi-Wan to Xanatos.

"There's trouble, Anakin. We are leaving Taganor, and you'll have to come with us. Now."

"No!" The boy shrank back, looking around wildly at his guards. "You want to kill me!"

"Who has been telling you such things?" Obi-Wan demanded. "I don't want to kill you. I want to make sure you are all right. But we have to go, now. Come!"

"I won't!" Anakin backed up as his guards surged forward. Obi-Wan stood and executed a simple maneuver, just a manipulation of the Force, and the two men nearest him lost their weapons. With a twist of his hand, Obi-Wan sent them sprawling to the ground. Xanatos focused his attention on drawn weapons, pulling them from closed grasps and into the air, directly to him. He fired the blasters quickly, dropping the remaining guards, then turned back toward the agitated child.

"NO!" Anakin retreated again, toward the wall, then stopped, as if he had suddenly remembered something important. The hair on Obi-Wan's neck rose swiftly as he felt the change in the Force; its subtle energy was growing around them into something murky and indistinct. "You can't make me, Obi-Wan."

"I would not presume to do so, Highness." Obi-Wan changed his tactics immediately. "You recognize the danger here, don't you? The Sith will overrun this planet in a matter of hours, and you will not be safe here."

"Yes I will. Windu has promised to watch over me." Defiantly, Anakin crossed his arms across his chest. "This is *my* planet. The Emperor *wants* me to rule here. You aren't going to take that away from me."

"Windu?" Obi-Wan controlled the anger crawling in the back of his throat. With effort, he stowed it away for another time...another place, where it could be safely dealt with. "The Ambassador may believe he is doing what is right, but he is mistaken. You are not safe here without me, and I must go."

"Then go." Harsh, and without emotion, the words were not those of a petulant child. They rang with the echo of newly discovered power, unfocused and untamed, but at the ready.

"Anakin." Obi-Wan knelt before the boy. Hands firmly on the small shoulders, he tugged him closer, noting with dismay the stiffness in the childish body, the way the boy leaned away from him as if contact with his cousin was distasteful. "Have I guided you well as your Regent?"

"I don't know." With a surly, suspicious look, Anakin squirmed in Obi-Wan's grasp. Then, more strongly, "No. You always wanted to do what was best for you."

"If you stay here, I cannot protect you."

"I don't believe you!"

"Use the Force as I've taught you, Anakin. Am I lying to you now?" Obi-Wan was careful to remain patient, centered.

Anakin squinted in a way so adult and knowing that Obi-Wan found himself a bit unnerved. Finally, Anakin said, "No." His head swiveled to the side, and he fixed Xanatos with a long stare that could have cut right though him. "But *he* is."

Obi-Wan glanced up at Xanatos, who dragged his gaze away from its watchful vigil of the corridor at Obi-Wan's back. Obi-Wan returned his attention to Anakin. "You are wrong."

"He's no slave!" Anakin's scowl grew deeper.

"He was not always a slave, true. But Xanatos will not harm you. He warned me of what was about to happen so we could all leave here safely."

"Go away then!" As though a tremendous weight had been dropped, Obi-Wan was shoved backward and lifted in the air. He flew several feet and fell heavily to the ground. Anakin's voice traveled to him, low and angry like approaching thunder, and it should have been the sound of someone much older, much more powerful - but it was just a boy, reaching for control he was not ready to harness. "I don't need your help any longer."

Xan leveled a blaster at Anakin, but Anakin was faster. The blasters jumped from Xan's hands as if they had a will of their own.

Obi-Wan got slowly to his feet. He leveled a stare at Anakin. "You will get on that ship, if I have to carry you."

"You can't make me. I already know it. I don't want to hurt you." For the first time, that strangely adult voice faltered, and the hesitation showed in the wide, childish eyes. "Just leave me alone."

"I can't do that." Obi-Wan lifted his hand and crooked a finger in Anakin's direction, and the boy cried out. With an agonizing wail, the child fell to the ground, writhing. Obi-Wan could feel bile rising in his throat, but he swallowed it, and said, "As you see, I *can* make you obey me."

"No," came the faint response. Then, stronger, "No!" Anakin rolled to his knees, then staggered to his feet. The boy on the cusp of adolescence exercised his will, and great rolling waves of anger and hate spread out into the Force. They battered at Obi-Wan like blows of a heavy hammer, punishing and difficult to withstand.

The enormity of the power the child could unleash suddenly terrified Obi-Wan. Only the Emperor had ever shown such ability to magnify his rage in the Force. With all his ability, Obi-Wan marshaled his command of the Force and began to repel the horrifying evil surrounding him. And within moments, he knew.

He was strong, but not strong enough. The child had already turned, and he had been too blind to see it.

Ragged, undisciplined fury powered the bolts of energy that drove him to his knees. He knew he was screaming, but there was no sound; he was in a vacuum of pain, and nothing could survive there but his astonishment, and his fear. He could not find his own strength in the Force. It was as if all had been stripped away from him - control, ability, power - and he was left defenseless in the face of Darkness. He could hear Xanatos calling to him, saying his name, and regret filled his heart. He would never know what could have been, in a universe where Anakin Skywalker was the hope and the light of the galaxy.

"Xan," he gasped. Anakin's face had taken on a distorted, elongated look, and the cruelty he saw there sickened him. Pain eviscerated his pity and filled him with anger, but the anger faded into sadness as fire consumed every inch of his skin. Not long, now, before it would be over, and he would join his own energy to the Force...

And as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

Sucking in deep, grateful breaths, Obi-Wan crawled forward a few inches, then dropped to his stomach, coughing, breathing, just trying to shake loose from the electricity still creeping through every nerve ending he had. "Xan," he whispered, and when there was no answer, anxiety made him raise his head.

Xanatos was on his knees, and on the altar of his body, a dying child was sprawled, sacrificed for the greater good. Obi-Wan pushed himself up and stared, astonished, disbelieving, as Anakin gasped for air. The tip of a dagger protruded from his stomach, wet with red blood, and as Obi-Wan looked at that small area of crimson metal, it twisted, then turned again, and slid to the side.

Anakin's eyes were wide, his mouth an open gash of pain across his face. Disbelief and fury had turned the features of a child into those of a monster, and as Obi-Wan stared, they melted into the soft visage of a young boy, deceptively young, made innocent by blood. Anakin made a noise like an animal brought to slaughter, and convulsed twice.

And then he was still.

With what seemed like a monumental effort, Xanatos pushed the dead boy off his lap. The small body rolled to the side, and Xanatos let it fall. Slowly, he pulled the knife out, then dropped it on the ground. He raised his eyes to Obi-Wan's. "I could not let you die."

Obi-Wan got to his knees, then his feet; every part of him had gone numb. He closed the distance between them and reached out a hand. Xanatos wiped his hands on his crimson-saturated tunic before he reached up, and Obi-Wan hauled him to his feet. Both men stood quiet, unsteady, for a long moment.

Without speaking, Xanatos picked up the dagger and wiped the blade on the ground, and in silence, the two men set out for the landing bay.

**

Qui-Gon cut at the air where Maul stood, leaping forward every time he retreated, intent on ending this battle as quickly as possible. The soldier was strong with the Force, but not adept in its use; even so, Qui-Gon felt as though he were chasing shadows across the room. The battle raged on between them, fierce and quick. Qui-Gon took the offensive, aggressive and sure of his ability. Maul had produced some sort of hand-held saber, a cutting implement never meant to be used as a weapon, but in Maul's hands, it had been fashioned into a deadly tool. Qui-Gon was spending much of his time avoiding contact with the blade; unlike a saber, the blade was short, easily concealed, and difficult to combat.

With sudden power, the bond that connected him to Obi-Wan opened and a flood of information deluged Qui-Gon - he knew Obi-Wan was on his way, without Anakin, and that Xanatos was with him. He knew Anakin was dead. And there was more, much more. Hate. Regret. Love. So much that he was overwhelmed for a moment. Maul made his move, a sudden rush toward Qui-Gon with his blade extended.

For years to come, Qui-Gon would remember with satisfaction the look of sheer surprise on Maul's face as Qui-Gon thrust his saber forward and cleanly severed both his hands. The saber-blade clattered to the ground, useless, and Qui-Gon ran Maul through with his saber, piercing his heart. In that moment, it was ended, and Maul fell to the ground dead.

Qui-Gon wasted no time surveying the scene around him. The Imperial troops had left him at Maul's mercy, thinking no doubt that the battle would be easily won by their leader, and had gone into the landing bay after the slaves. He could hear blaster fire in the bay. Obi-Wan was close now; the bond was still open. There were shouts in the distance as well; troops were on the move toward the landing bay. Qui-Gon moved quickly to the doors and began to strip the controls. It would not do to have their pursuers on their heels.

Xanatos and Obi-Wan rounded the corner, sprinting ahead of Imperial troops who shouted commands and laid down a thicket of blaster fire. They paused for a moment as they passed Leyran's body, and a look of sorrow passed across Obi-Wan's features. Qui-Gon waited patiently for them, and the moment they had passed through the doors together, he stepped back and touched the controls with the tip of his saber. The melted wires triggered the door, and as it slammed down, Qui-Gon ran behind Xan and Obi-Wan.

The landing bay was strewn with bodies, but Qui-Gon's heart lifted as he scanned faces and saw that none of the slaves were among them. The ramp of the Regent's transport was down. Dead troops littered the area around the ship; Qui-Gon spared a moment to notice the precision of their injuries as they pounded up the ramp and forward, into the cockpit area. Valorum met them there, and Qui-Gon gestured in the direction of the strewn bodies. "Your work?"

Valorum smiled slightly. "My men were in need of something to keep them entertained while we waited."

Obi-Wan pushed past them all and laid a hand on the captain's shoulder. "Get us off this planet!"

The captain nodded, absorbed in the business of obeying the command, and his fingers moved swiftly over the controls. Each action seemed to take forever, stretched out by the urgency of the moment, and Qui-Gon could see Obi-Wan's fingers digging into the man's shoulder. Lights flickered on the panel; a frown appeared on the captain's face, and he exchanged a brief glance with the navigator, who reached for the lift controls and pressed them.

Nothing happened.

"We should be moving," the captain said in a tone of puzzled desperation. "There isn't any indication...I don't know what's wrong!"

"We don't have time for this," Obi-Wan muttered. He turned to Qui-Gon. "Help me."

Even without the bond to instruct him, Qui-Gon knew exactly what was required, and a momentary surge of doubt overcame him. "It may not be possible," he said softly.

"Do you see another option?" Obi-Wan asked. "All we need to do is lift the ship. Once off the ground, we have propulsion. Don't we?" he asked, looking sharply at the captain, who nodded with something like certainty. Satisfied, Obi-Wan closed his eyes. One of his hands rose slightly at his side, and his fingers separated, holding tense in mid-air.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes as well. In the distance, there were sounds - Mathius weeping quietly; the hollow echo of blaster fire as the big bay doors began to give way; the creak and groan of metal as the ship fought to obey the commands of the pilot. He could hear Xanatos' harsh breathing, and the noises of the navigator and pilot as they frantically searched for the problem.

He set those noises aside, and the world became silent because he willed it to be so.

Obi-Wan's strength was in his mind, in his heart, just as he knew his strength was in Obi-Wan. He opened himself fully to the Force, to its raw power and frightening beauty, and let it overtake him for a moment. He began to focus on the ship, on lifting it, on taking them far from this world. He let the Force flow through him, magnified by Obi-Wan's control, and together they channeled the Force, willing the ship to rise.

There were strange fluctuations in the Force as each man struggled to find balance with it and with each other. Qui-Gon was conscious of Obi-Wan, but his awareness of all that surrounded them was changed. He could feel Obi-Wan near him, his presence shimmering in Qui-Gon's mind. For a moment, doubt overcame him, but he set it aside and listened to the Force. He gave himself over to the certainty that anything could be possible, and now it was not just his certainty, but Obi-Wan's as well.

For a split second, it seemed that perhaps they would overload, that they would simply cease to exist and become one with the Force, but the balance they sought settled over them suddenly, and Qui-Gon felt the pressures of the material world give way.

"Something's happening," the pilot said, shock in his voice. The ship bumped up, hovered, but moved no farther.

Qui-Gon's eyes flew open and his gaze locked with Obi-Wan's. It would not be enough. They could not do it, but they would not stop trying. They pushed with all their might, and Qui-Gon's eyes drifted closed again as he turned inside, to the place of strength he had worked all his life to attain.

The ship lifted another few feet, and Qui-Gon could feel his body straining to do the tasks asked of it, to be the vessel for the Force. Obi-Wan's determination bled through, and his will to make the ship fly was strong, stronger than anything Qui-Gon had ever felt.

Suddenly, there was a surge in the Force, and Qui-Gon gasped. It was something he had never felt, a completeness of power, a certainty that anything could be possible. It shone through his mind like white light, in waves, beating against his consciousness, and then it became smooth, pulsing, a living Force, like the unstoppable flow of a river.

Xanatos' presence in the Force was strong with him, and he opened his eyes. Xanatos stood next to Obi-Wan, eyes closed, lending his own power to theirs, and the difference was astounding. Qui-Gon felt a sensation of complete dominance, as though the universe was his - theirs - to control. A heady sense of victory swept through him, a surge of pride and achievement, all things a Jedi should not feel, but he was past caring. This was something too perfect to be beaten back by Jedi guilt. There was nothing they could not do, together.

But first, the ship must rise.

Without warning it happened, and this time without effort, as though the powerful lift system had been amplified a million times. The craft levitated, guided by the captain's hands on the controls, and moved through the sky on a wind created from the sheer will of the Force. It ascended into the Taganor's atmosphere, scaling the clouds and searching for stars to guide it.

The three men opened their eyes simultaneously and released their hold on the Force as the ship entered space, where fuel-driven lift was no longer needed.

Qui-Gon exhaled softly, stunned, and looked from Obi-Wan to Xanatos. Something had changed. Something...he could sense it, but he could not name it.

Xanatos sat down abruptly, holding his ribs, still staring at Obi-Wan. There was wonder in his eyes, and fear. Blood had dried and darkened on his hands and arms, a grim reminder of what had transpired. In the background, Mathius wept quietly, sheltered in the small comfort of Ket'al's arms. Obi-Wan went to him, squeezed his shoulder gently, then withdrew his hand.

Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon. "Now, Jedi, tell us where the others are hiding."

Qui-Gon inclined his head toward the nav console. "Yavin. We must make our way to the moons of Yavin."

*****

Space travel had its own peculiar brand of silence - a smooth, deep quiet, unbroken by sound. Only light pierced the vacuum, in the form of a thousand close and distant stars streaking by the thick portholes. They taunted the darkness with their brilliance, and then faded into distant obscurity.

Obi-Wan had seen these stars before. They were welcome beacons, calling him home. Even as he stood and basked in their cold security, he felt the chill of more than deep space in his heart. Nothing would ever seem normal for him again, no matter what kind of reception they received on Yavin.

And there was another matter, as well. What had transpired between the three Jedi weighed upon him; it had left its residue on his heart. It should not have been so easy, with only Xanatos' assistance as the catalyst to what they all needed. The power they possessed together was natural, and each of them felt this...and yet, Obi-Wan was troubled. Something had been born between them, and was growing more powerful with each moment.

Still, there was more. Obi-Wan could feel Xan in the back of his mind, and it should not be possible for that sensation to co-exist with the bond that was already formed there.

But it did, and now he had that to contend with, as well.

A sound behind him drew his attention away from the window. He turned to see Qui-Gon setting something on the circular conference table. As the Jedi drew his hand away, Obi-Wan was able to discern the glitter of jewels set in a pattern he had designed.

"I believe this belongs to you," Qui-Gon said.

"I'm surprised you waited this long to remove it." Obi-Wan picked up the slave bracelet and turned it between his fingers. It seemed surprisingly heavy. The metal had been cut cleanly, near the clasp, which had been designed never to open, once closed.

"There was no opportunity to do it sooner. And the weight of it had become...bearable."

Obi-Wan looked up and met his bondmate's eyes, and a long look of some significance passed between them. So many things that had not been said, that could never be said. "You did only what you were forced to do, Qui-Gon. I have much to atone for in this regard."

"I did as I chose to do. Even as a slave, some choices were mine, and I made them, and would make them again." Qui-Gon folded his arms across his chest. "You don't give me enough credit for having my own mind."

"I took that from you. There was little you could have done to oppose me, you know." Obi-Wan grinned, and the last vestiges of power manifested in that knowing smile.

"There were options. I chose...other ways. And the Force intervened before I could have made good on any plans I might have drawn for escape." Qui-Gon nodded his head. "Good night."

Obi-Wan nodded in return as Qui-Gon made his way toward his cramped quarters, the same cabin assigned to another of his former slaves, Daro. He directed his gaze back toward the starfield, but his attention remained in the room as footsteps approached, and two others from his ragtag crew entered the room.

"The pilot says we are on course for Yavin and will arrive in twenty standard hours. The landing system will be operational by that time. The captain is confident they will be able to make the required repairs."

Without turning, Obi-Wan bowed his head. The sound of Xan's voice was like a beautiful, agonizing tear through his heart. "You should rest. Things will...things must be different, once we have arrived at our destination."

Xanatos did not answer, and finally, Obi-Wan turned. His lover stood still in the dimness, watching him. The slave bracelet Obi-Wan had put in place remained on Xan's upper arm, and Obi-Wan stared at it for a moment, remembering the day he had marked the man as his property. His heart grieved quietly, turning harder by degrees. Xanatos met his eyes without a word, then turned and left the room, brushing past Valorum.

Obi-Wan turned back to the window. "Your duties are at an end, Valorum. There doesn't appear to be much left for you to do."

"I am where I wish to be, Obi-Wan. I serve you, as I have served you before, and will continue to do so as long as I am needed."

"Little did you know when you took this assignment how things would change for us all."

"I have seen nothing that would alter my opinion of the situation."

Obi-Wan smiled. "How is Mathius?"

"He sleeps. The Jedi..."Valorum hesitated, as if realizing that word had lost its significance, and could no longer point to Qui-Gon Jinn alone. "Jinn has seen to him since we came aboard ship. He will manage his grief; he is strong."

"That's good news." Obi-Wan looked at the stars, and his mind wandered away into the vastness beyond their tiny ship. They were free, finally. Free of deception, free of enslavement, free of obligations to those they had never wanted to serve.

But freedom was a fluke, a change in the design of his ordered, pre-destined life. He had made madness into sanity, changed lives forever, enslaved good men, tasted power and enjoyed it. There would be a price to pay.


	14. Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships change as the group leaves Taganor and new bonds are formed.

Xanatos tossed and turned as he listened to Valorum’s even breathing from the bunk above his own. It was hard to comprehend, after so many years of bondage, that he now slept in the same room as the Lord High Chancellor of Taganor, the highest ranking official on that world aside from the Regent. It felt odd, even awkward, and it kept him from sleeping.

He concentrated instead on trying to feel the thrumming of the ship’s engines. He had imagined that after so many years bound to one world, he might have a sense of movement as they sped across light years, but he felt nothing at all. 

Qui-Gon had come to him earlier in the sleep cycle and had asked if he was ready to remove the bracelet that had signified his bondage to Obi-Wan. The others had shed theirs early in the voyage, within hours of being brought on board, but Qui-Gon had come to him last for reasons Xan well understood. The question was not unexpected, but his refusal had surprised him as much as it surprised his former master. Qui-Gon’s face had been a subtle study in emotion – surprise, and a bit of confusion, and other things they would perhaps never be able to discuss openly. 

He curled up beneath the utilitarian blanket and tried to remember what it was like to be free, to have choices. He had been given so few choices in his life. Strange that he would now choose to keep a reminder of the ultimate loss of freedom. Within that place, suspended in time, he had been free to choose with his heart, and he had done so. 

As with all things, he knew that once exposed to the harsh light of Jedi inquisition, love often could not survive. Obi-Wan would return to the Order and many things would be put aside, never to be spoken of again. What they felt had never been a free love; as with caged animals returned to the wild, much would be deliberately forgotten in the quest to adapt and survive. A second lifetime would be forged, separate and apart from the first, like waking after a dream.

Soft chimes sounded at the door. Xan threw back the blanket and stood; with a quick glance at Valorum’s sleeping form, he went to answer them. 

Obi-Wan stood in the corridor, looking tired and apprehensive, but the weariness lifted from his eyes as soon as he saw Xan. He stood waiting, without words.

“You needn’t ask permission to enter,” Xan said quietly.

Obi-Wan drew in a long breath. “Of all the things I must do, asking your permission to enter is perhaps the most important.” He tilted his head to the side, a familiar gesture of inquiry, and asked, “You understand why?”

“Of course I do. Just as you understand why no permission is required.” 

They moved then, both of them at once, seeking the comfort of touch; nothing more needed to be said. Obi-Wan’s hands traveled Xan’s body, awakening the need Xanatos had tried to bury as soon as they boarded the ship. His sense of impending loss deepened when Obi-Wan drew him closer, so gently, seeking Xan’s eager, waiting mouth; he trembled inside the hidden places of his heart when Obi-Wan opened him, giving with restrained savagery a kiss Xanatos could not wait to take. 

Together, they walked the short distance to Obi-Wan’s quarters, and Obi-Wan drew Xan inside, waiting only until the doors sealed before taking his fill of Xan; his mouth descended on Xan’s once again, devouring him with slow, sweet desire. 

“Are your injuries healing?” Obi-Wan asked, hands shielding the sides of Xan’s body, as if to protect the healing ribs. 

“As well as might be expected.” Xan took Obi-Wan’s hands and moved them, setting them to work on the fastenings of the soft, loose tunic. “However, these garments are confining.”

“You should not have slept in them,” Obi-Wan chided, and a spark came into his eyes as he plucked at the silky fabric. “And they do not suit you.”

“A change of clothing was necessary. And it seemed wise to be ready to disembark at a moment’s notice, since we may soon have an entire fleet after us,” Xan said. 

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Then perhaps you should return to your quarters, fully dressed.”

“Perhaps not,” Xan said, and covered any further objections Obi-Wan may have had by licking at his lips, kissing them until a soft moan was produced. Their tongues touched, delivering knowledge in the language they were most accustomed to speaking. 

Obi-Wan undid the remaining buttons of the tunic and removed it. “Sit,” he ordered, and Xan smiled as he settled on the edge of the bed. 

“Yes, my master.”

Obi-Wan froze in the act of folding the tunic. After a moment, he resumed his action and set the clothing aside. Xan felt his heart race at the sight of Obi-Wan’s tight shoulders, his posture that of a man just rebuked. He reached out, caught Obi-Wan’s hand. “It was a poor joke, Obi-Wan. My apologies.”

Obi-Wan turned to him. There were shadows in his eyes; they had turned from beautiful hazel-green to dark, unreadable brown. “You are right. I should be more careful of my tone. Certain things…are habit, now. It won’t happen again.”

“Obi-Wan,” Xan said softly, but Obi-Wan pulled away and chose a chair on the opposite side of the small cabin. The furnishings were sparse; this ship had never been meant for more than quick transport across short distances. There were faint echoes of the life they had just fled, as evidenced by the soft coverings on the bed, and food left untouched on the undersized communication console. Those small luxuries were more than might be found in any other quarters aboard the military vessel. 

The former Regent casually slung one leg over the arm of the chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “We have not yet spoken of what you did. Of how you saved my life.”

Xan felt a tiredness coming over him, and he lay back on the bed. The white bulkheads gleamed in the low light, a hypnotic distraction from this conversation he did not want to have. “The child would have killed you and turned to the Dark Side.”

“So I should not say that you saved me, but that you instead destroyed the darkness in Anakin?” There was some subtle challenge in the question, and Xan weighed it before he spoke. 

“I saved you by destroying the darkness in him. There was only one way.” Xanatos turned his face toward Obi-Wan, whose eyes glittered from across the room. “I cannot help what I am…or what I was….any more than you can deny what you are.”

“So you know,” Obi-Wan said. The words were weighted with all the deceptions practiced, all the stories as yet untold. “That I was…am….a Jedi.”

“Yes. Qui-Gon told all of us shortly after we boarded the ship.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan sighed. “That will avoid several complicated conversations.”

“Like this one?” Xan smiled at him. 

“Not like this one. In fact, we are not having the conversation I imagined. I wouldn’t know where to begin.” 

“Begin by telling me of Qui-Gon,” Xan said. “Or we can speak of the change between us, of what I feel now, between us.”

Obi-Wan chose quickly, Xan thought; the topic was decided in an instant. “Qui-Gon and I are bonded. The bond is deep and true. We can sense one another, even now.” 

Xan rolled on his side, careful of his aching ribs, and stared at Obi-Wan, who met his stare without flinching. The horrible sense of longing expanded, grew until it flooded Xan’s heart. He asked the first question, the only question, to enter his mind. “Bonded by choice?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It is not a thing I wanted, but the Force compelled it. Perhaps there is a way to undo what has been done when we reach the Jedi.”

“That may not be wise.” At Obi-Wan’s questioning look, Xan said slowly, “If the Force has dictated that such a bond be formed, who are you – or anyone – to seek to destroy what has been put in place?”

“I cannot reconcile that bond, or my attraction to Qui-Gon, with what I feel for you,” Obi-Wan said bluntly. “And I cannot reconcile what I feel for you with my duty.”

“Then you are only mortal like the rest of us,” Xan observed with a slight grin. He crooked a finger at Obi-Wan. “Come here, to me.”

Obi-Wan swung his legs to the floor and crossed the length of the room, shedding his tunic as he moved. “Yes, my master,” he said, softly, dangerously. Xan laughed, and the sound of it lifted his heart. Obi-Wan stretched out on the bed beside him. His touch was light, but filled with need, and each stroke of his hand was a possessive exploration, a permanent imprint on Xan’s body. 

“You can feel Qui-Gon even now?” Xan asked, as he nipped gently at the skin beneath Obi-Wan’s ear. “And he can feel you?”

“Not now,” Obi-Wan murmured, engaged in pressing soft, slow kisses to the tender areas of Xan’s body. “I do not want him here, with us, ever again.” He unfastened Xan’s trousers and slipped them down over his hips. 

“It may not be your choice,” Xan said, and finished on a low moan as Obi-Wan’s lips touched the head of his cock, as his tongue flickered out and tantalized, moving lower and lower still. 

“I have chosen,” Obi-Wan said, and raised his head so Xan could see his eyes. A thrill of pure lust went through Xan’s body at the look in those eyes. “In this moment, this is what I wish.”

“In this moment,” Xan whispered, “I am here with you. But this moment will end.”

In answer, Obi-Wan’s lips covered his, stealing thought, breath, obscuring all questions. A sudden desperation overcame Xan; he shoved it brutally aside. Obi-Wan raised his head and asked softly, “What troubles you?”

“I am not troubled,” Xan said, but Obi-Wan’s expression changed, and Xan knew with certainty that his own shock was mirrored in Obi-Wan’s eyes. It was as if the doors of Obi-Wan’s heart had been thrown open, and every emotion he possessed was shining through. Xan whispered, “You can feel what I feel, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answered, and Xan’s reply caught in his throat as he listened to the wild rush of emotion speaking through his heart, the certainty that Obi-Wan’s heart was connected there. “And you—”

“Yes,” Xan answered, and felt Obi-Wan’s fear. 

Obi-Wan’s arms tightened around him, even as anger flared within him. Xan could discern the subtle fragments of it, like distant music, as Obi-Wan spoke. “I first sensed it as we left the planet’s surface, but I did not believe it possible. I didn’t want to see it for what it truly was. Now…”

“Now you have no choice,” Xan said, and it was a question as much as a statement.

“It is done,” Obi-Wan said simply. “I would not have forced a bond upon you. But it exists. How this can be, I cannot say.” 

Xan took his face between two hands. “As you have said – it is already done,” he said, and kissed Obi-Wan savagely, with triumph. “Now show me. Show me what you feel.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted on the bed, to strip and toss his clothing aside. And then he stopped, and touched Xan with something close to reverence. “Chun,” he said, and Xan’s skin went cold. 

“Forgotten,” he answered, pulling Obi-Wan closer. 

“No,” Obi-Wan said. “These injuries remind you. Both of us. Are you certain you-“

“Would you have me remind you what I am? What I have been, what I have done as your property?” Xan did not flinch as Obi-Wan’s pain burrowed into him.

“It’s not necessary,” Obi-Wan said. “Nothing can atone for what I have been forced to do.” 

“Quiet,” Xan said. “See the truth of it. This is all I need to heal what was broken.”

Obi-Wan rolled to his back, pulling Xan with him. Xan stretched out across the length of Obi-Wan’s body, and for a time they held one another. Obi-Wan laid his hands at the small of Xan’s back and rested them there. He shifted, bringing one leg between Xan’s legs, and Xan closed his eyes. Even the smallest touch to his skin seemed to bring every emotion flaring to life, all out of his control and screaming with need. 

He dropped his head down and found Obi-Wan’s mouth, and kissed him, a kiss made bittersweet because he was free to give it as he wished – or to leave, if that was his desire. He knew he would stay, and Obi-Wan knew it as well. They understood each other’s needs; it was this same insight that had long told Xanatos how to make his master writhe with liquid pleasure. 

Obi-Wan stroked his palms hard up the muscles of Xan’s back, asking permission with this most basic of touches. Xan moaned and twisted his lean body tightly around that of his beloved. Obi-Wan’s unerring erotic map of Xanatos led him to taste the skin at the side of Xan’s throat, to follow Xan’s sounds of pleasure with sharp bites and soothing kisses, to draw circles with his tongue around the hard nipples. 

Xan had the freedom to stop Obi-Wan when he would attempt to give pleasure. Oh, it was intoxicating, the knowledge that Xan was in control of all things, as he grasped Obi-Wan’s wrist and stayed its motion. “Not yet,” he said, and saw the spark of lust flaring in Obi-Wan’s eyes, waiting to be quenched. 

Freedom, to take his time because it was his own path to follow, his own choice, to wrap his lips around Obi-Wan’s cock and suckle hard and fast, to still the bucking hips with his hands and gentle the man who was still his master. He could taste the elixir of liberty with every lick of tongue -- up, then down, then pausing to swirl quiick around the head. Xan enjoyed the sensation of power so familiar to him, a power magnified by doors without locks and places without boundaries. 

Joy burned through him as Obi-Wan surrendered to him, as he lost control and gave over everything to Xan, everything Xan demanded. And when it pleased him to do so, Xan relinquished his dominance in order to have what he wanted most, to turn to his side and feel Obi-Wan filling him, feel the emotions swirling around them in currents too fast and beautiful to be denied any longer. He was Obi-Wan’s, as much as Obi-Wan was his, and they would have to accept the consequences of it. 

He pressed his face deep into the pillow with Obi-Wan’s voice in his ear, speaking softly, words guttural and erotic, as his cock pulsed in Obi-Wan’s hand, and Obi-Wan shuddered behind him, still buried deep inside him. 

The sleep cycle was nearing a close. Xan could sense the shifting of time, though he did not know how late it was. He stretched out alongside Obi-Wan; he drew patterns on Obi-Wan’s skin for the sheer joy of touching him. 

Obi-Wan cut right to the heart of the matter as he traced the cold metal of the slave bracelet. “Why do you still wear this?” he asked.

“I was not ready to relinquish it.”

Obi-Wan looked sharply at Xan. “An interesting word to choose. This connection must be cut and remade, once we are among the Jedi.”

“I know,” Xan said simply, and said no more. 

Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, and then added, “You are free to make your own choices. I don’t expect you to feel as you have these years when there were no other options for you.”

Xan closed his eyes, forcing back the sadness rising inside him. “Tomorrow, Obi-Wan. Tomorrow is soon enough to talk of this.” He met the clear hazel eyes, searching them. “Let tonight be what it is. Let it be what you need.”

“And what of your needs?”

In answer, Xan kissed him, and turned to look at the stars streaking by outside the portal. 

*****

“I cannot believe he is dead.”

Ket’al raised his head abruptly from where it had been resting on folded arms; for his effort, pain lanced through the muscles in his neck. He rubbed at it, unconcerned, focused only on the first words Mathius had spoken in hours. 

He could not erase the memory of Leyran’s death from his mind. Leyran, who wore Mathius’ handsome features, who was the identical twin of his lover. Things could so easily have been reversed, and now he would be mourning Mathius instead. It was too much to comprehend, and he could not fathom what Mathius must be feeling. 

Mathius sat up on the bed, then stood. He grasped the railing of the top bunk and held it, tighter and tighter, until his knuckles turned white. “It should not have happened. I urged him to follow. Were it not for my instructions, he would be alive.”

“Perhaps.” Ket’al watched his lover as his hands tightened, released, tightened on the bar. “Or perhaps we have all been living on borrowed time.”

“I don’t want to play the ‘perhaps’ game with you.” Tighten, release. “To have survived the life of a slave, and to die just as—”

“Don’t you think he would rather have died seeking his freedom? Or do you think he wanted to be a slave forever?” Ket’al pushed back from the table and went to Mathius. “This was a gift. An unexpected chance to be free. He would not want you to blame yourself. He chose. Honor his choice.”

“It was my fault.” 

“No. It is the fault of the Sith. Or the man who fired the shot that killed him. Or of Kenobi for holding us captive. How can you choose who you’ll blame? Blame no one. Let him go.” Softer, then, Ket’al said, “Let him go.”

“It is not so easy for me.” The words were controlled, but Mathius’ shoulders shook. Ket’al wrapped his arms around Mathius and held him, a silent support for his pain. 

Mathius leaned back into his embrace; the tremors in his body eased. “What do you think will become of us?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea. I know that I intend to find a way to do damage to the Sith. Any way I can.”

“You were not meant to be a slave,” Mathius said, with tenderness.

“None of us were.”

“But I was born into it. You…you were free, once.”

“Yes. And I intend to get back home, someday.” 

“I see,” Mathius said slowly, and Ket’al knew he did not see at all. 

“You would love Corellia.” Ket’al ran a hand through Mathius’ messy dark hair and released the tie that held it in place. “It’s a beautiful world. Someday, we’ll see it together.”

“If we survive all this,” Mathius said. 

Ket’al twined his hand in Mathius’ hair and kissed the nape of his neck. “Oh, we’ll survive it,” he said. “I promise you that much. There is too much yet to do.”

*****

“Three minutes to landing, sir.” The captain looked over his shoulder at Obi-Wan, who nodded and turned to the others. 

“There will be a contingent of Jedi here to meet us; I contacted Master Yoda as soon as we were clear of Taganor,” Obi-Wan said. As soon as he had finished the sentence, he looked up in alarm, first at Xan, whose expression was neutral, and then to Qui-Gon, who had gone deathly pale. “Qui-Gon?….”

“I am all right,” Qui-Gon answered, dismissing further inquiry. Obi-Wan felt their bond slam closed. 

“Is there…should we disembark in any particular order?” Ket’al asked. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Mathius; they had been inseparable from the moment they boarded. 

Obi-Wan looked to Valorum with a wry smile. “You are all free citizens, just as I am. Once we have landed, passage will be arranged for all of you. You may return to your homeworlds, if you wish, although I would urge you to be cautious. If Imperial troops should board your ships, you will be treated as runaway slaves and sold back into slavery.”

Daro shuddered. “I’ve had enough of *that*.” His eyes twinkled as he looked first at Qui-Gon, then Obi-Wan. “I’m going to find myself a Jedi and teach him some of the more…pleasurable pursuits that come with having me around.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows climbed, and a grin quirked up one side of his lips. “If anyone can challenge the Jedi philosophy, it will be you.” He turned to Ket’al. “They are expecting me, and Valorum and Qui-Gon as well. We will re-introduce Xanatos, as he also has a place among these people. The rest of you may disembark as you choose. Suitable quarters will be found for you until you have decided where you will go.”

“And if we want to stay, and be useful?” Ket’al asked, looking steadily at Obi-Wan. “As free men among the Jedi?”

“There will be tasks that need doing. We can discuss this, once…once you have adjusted,” Obi-Wan said. 

Conversation ceased as the ship swept down from the sky and dropped onto the landing pad, partially concealed behind a thicket of trees. “Lower the ramp,” Obi-Wan said, and looked to Qui-Gon, whose face was unnaturally still. “What is it?” he asked, in a voice pitched for only Qui-Gon to hear. Qui-Gon said nothing; he looked straight ahead, and the threads that connected them through their bond remained dark, without the light of constant empathy. 

Daylight burst through the hatch doors. The smell of wet vegetation, not unlike Taganor during the long stormy season, flooded the interior of the ship, and brought with it a sweet pang of loss to Obi-Wan. He gestured to Qui-Gon. “After you.”

Qui-Gon descended the ramp, with Obi-Wan and Xan following close behind and Valorum on their heels. All four men halted at the base of the ramp and took in the sight of more Jedi than most of them had ever seen assembled in one place. Men and women from many worlds lined the short walkway, and at the end, a small platform where six Jedi waited – Obi-Wan suspected they were the remnants of the Jedi Council. Chief among them was a small being with wizened skin and a walking stick. 

Qui-Gon moved first; Jedi nodded to him in recognition as he passed by. He took the platform stairs two at a time and bowed before Yoda. “Oh, my master,” he said, and his voice broke on the word. “I believed you dead with the others.” 

“Needed elsewhere, I was. Best to let the Sith believe reports of my death.” Yoda smiled gently at Qui-Gon. “It is good to see you again, Qui-Gon. Pleased am I that you are well.”

“There have been…challenges. I fear I have not met them all as a Jedi should.” A muscle twitched in Qui-Gon’s jaw as he lifted his head. 

“Done well, you have.” Qui-Gon did not speak; silence spread between them, and Yoda’s ears flattened as his eyes clouded. “Speak later of this, we must.”

With a nod, Qui-Gon stepped aside. 

Obi-Wan strode down the walkway and stopped short of the platform. Seeing Yoda brought forth a flood of memories – training, sparring, lessons in mastering the Force, building his lightsaber under Yoda’s tutelage – and the accompanying emotions rushed upon him. With the force of his will, he wrenched his emotions back into a small corner of his heart and turned his attention to Yoda. “Master Yoda. It is good to see you again, after so many years.”

Yoda’s lips compressed into a thin line. “Arrogant you have become, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Show proper respect for your master, you should.” Obi-Wan smiled, feeling surprisingly grumpy and relieved all at once, and bowed deeply. Yoda harrumphed. “Better.”

“I am not accustomed to bowing, these days,” Obi-Wan said, as the visceral truth of it slammed home. “It has been…quite some time since I have given obeisance to anyone.”

“Time to remember your teachings, it is.”

“Yes, master,” Obi-Wan said, and bowed again. “Truly, it is good to be…home.”

“Such as it is,” Yoda said. Obi-Wan let his guard fall, let Yoda search his feelings; the Force flowed through him, enveloped him. “Troubled are you, Obi-Wan. I sense much turmoil in you. Much to overcome.”

“I am not the boy who left your charge to become a Sith apprentice,” Obi-Wan said softly. 

“No. You are not.” Yoda’s head tilted; his gaze seemed to cut right through to Obi-Wan’s heart. “Come back a man, you are, and much changed. Much power I sense in you.”

“You sent me to walk a fine line,” Obi-Wan said. “I have done my best.”

Yoda nodded. “Many hours will we spend, speaking of your journey.” 

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan bowed once more – for good measure – and stepped aside. He turned his attention toward the gangway and watched as Xanatos descended down into the midst of the crowd. 

Qui-Gon descended the steps of the platform and waited for Xanatos there; Obi-Wan understood his intention. It seemed appropriate that Qui-Gon should be the one to give the explanation, to find a diplomatic way to reintroduce the man into the society he had left as a boy, on the cusp of becoming a Jedi Knight. 

Xanatos turned his startlingly blue eyes on Obi-Wan as he neared the platform. His gaze was filled with the tenderness and torment of the night just passed, and Obi-Wan met his eyes steadily, without regret. Xan walked on, past onlookers, past support staff. 

At the lowest step of the platform, Xanatos dragged his gaze away from Obi-Wan and turned to a beautiful woman standing with presence and grace, watching the proceedings. Obi-Wan was not familiar with her – he had met few Jedi other than those chosen to instruct him in utmost secrecy – but her bearing, and the fact the Force was strong with her, told him she was likely a powerful Jedi. 

Xanatos looked deeply into the woman’s eyes for a long moment, and she smiled at him with great warmth that all present could feel. “I am glad you are well, my pupil,” she said softly. There was much joy in her voice.

Immediately, Xan bowed low before her and picked up her hand to clasp it between his own. “I thought I would not see you again, Master.”

A frown gathered itself on Obi-Wan’s face, and he looked at Qui-Gon. What he sensed from his bondmate confirmed his own confusion. Qui-Gon had been Xanatos’ first and only master; there had been no other. Qui-Gon’s expression was composed, unreadable, but his heart was clearly singing a different song. 

“Have the years treated you kindly, Xan? I sense…” The woman’s face clouded, and she stopped speaking. 

Xan did not raise his head. “We have much to discuss,” he said, and with a little squeeze, he released her hand. 

“I will look forward to it,” she said. 

Quickly, without a backward glance, Xan began to move again, and ascended the steps with Qui-Gon at his side. 

Qui-Gon stepped forward as Xan dropped to one knee in front of Yoda. “My master, you will remember my former apprentice, Xanatos. He was lost to us in the destruction of the Temple, and has been enslaved by the Sith since that time.”

Yoda’s gaze settled on Xan. He gestured at Qui-Gon. “Need information on this man, I do not.” Xan raised his head, and Obi-Wan stepped forward, for his lover’s face was wet with tears, but Yoda stopped him with a wave of his hand. “Xanatos. What say you?”

“The child is dead, Master Yoda.” Xan waited for the news to sink in as Obi-Wan watched, incredulous. “There was no other option. He would not accompany us here, and without the influence of a Jedi, he would have become a powerful weapon in the Sith arsenal.”

“Done your duty well, you have,” Yoda said, and his words were laced with deep compassion. “Time it is for you to resume a normal life, here, among us.”

“I…there is so much…” Xan hesitated, and his shoulders hunched forward. “I have failed, my master…it was only to be as a last resort…” He looked over at Obi-Wan, who ignored Yoda and went to Xan then, and knelt beside him. 

“I don’t understand,” Obi-Wan said softly, in a voice pitched so low that only those nearest could hear his words. He settled an arm across Xan’s shoulders. Xan tensed and turned his face away from Obi-Wan. 

“Understand all, you will, in time.” Yoda’s eyes stayed on Xan. “A Jedi you were. A Jedi you have always been.” He shifted his gaze to Obi-Wan. “Think you I would leave you alone on that world? Alone, you were not. One trusted advisor you had, when Valorum joined you. And one other.”

Like the heavy pressure left by the vacuum of lightning, understanding closed in on Obi-Wan, and enclosed Qui-Gon at the same moment. A roaring began in Obi-Wan’s ears. “It was all planned,” he whispered, as information settled into the vacant cracks and crevices in his mind. Betrayal flared into life inside his heart. “There was nothing random.”

“Forgive me,” Xan said, and raised his head. “But you were never to know.”

“You…” Obi-Wan dropped his arm, stood, stepped back. “How much of it was a lie?”

“I had a duty,” Xan said, and stood to face him. Passion burned in his eyes. “But I have not lied to you on any matter of importance.”

“For later, this is,” Yoda said, cutting off any further revelations. Stunned, Obi-Wan stepped back again. Xan looked steadily at him as Obi-Wan backed onto the steps, then down to the bottom of the platform. Qui-Gon appeared beside Obi-Wan and stood silent support. Xan spared a glance for them, then turned back to Yoda as the Master spoke. “Xanatos. Obi-Wan. Much information you have. Begin at once, we will, to hear what you have to tell of the Sith.”

All three men bowed. “My master, what--” Qui-Gon began, and Yoda interrupted him swiftly.

“No time for explanations. Meet, we will, when this business is concluded. Introductions, there are. Much to discuss.” The ancient Jedi Master made his way down the steps, followed by the others on the platform. 

Without another word, the three men followed, one after the other. 

*****

The Jedi asked Obi-Wan and Xanatos many questions; they stuck to details, brief and to the point. Obi-Wan struggled to center himself, to remain calm and focused on the subject at hand. There would be lengthy conversations with his master in the days to come, he knew, and he would be required to recount every detail of his training by the Sith. His days among them had given him knowledge more precious to the Jedi than a million Imperial credits. 

Xanatos would doubtless have much to account for as well.

Obi-Wan’s thoughts returned time and again to the paradox of his pleasure slave. Not his slave, it would seem, but his watchdog, his guardian. The implications staggered him. The purpose of Xan’s presence there, the reasons for his attention, his devotion…how he came to be there in the first place, and how he made his way into Obi-Wan’s heart…. Obi-Wan was not ready to hear the insistent voice that chattered to him, whispering accusations about deception and deceit. 

He was the last man in the galaxy who could make such accusations; his own reflection named him a hypocrite in the extreme. 

Later, in the privacy of a meeting with Yoda, he would ask a thousand questions of his own. But there was time now only for the things that concerned all of them. 

When the Council had been fully informed of the plans of the Sith, the sun was creeping below the horizon, and the artificial lights blazed brightly in the makeshift Council chamber. The members sat silently, having asked the majority of their questions as the men told their stories. 

The beautiful woman Xan had greeted on the platform was the first to break the silence. “There are not enough of us left to wage war with the Sith. We are powerless to prevent any further violence unless we can increase our number.”

“Master Billaba is correct,” said a tall, white-haired gentleman, who had been introduced as Master Freeth. “But I do not believe the Jedi alone are the answer to this question.”

“The Empire has subdued entire worlds frightened those few allies who would rebel into the smallest, darkest corners of the galaxy. Even if we could find them, they are untrained, untried.” Billaba shook her head with frustration. 

“We would need their leaders. And how will we find them?” Plo Koon asked. “They will not simply appear because we wish to see them. Every Jedi who leaves this place risks exposure.”

“We cannot hide here forever,” Billaba said. Many heads nodded. “The Sith will be hunting us with every resource they possess now that the child of prophecy has been eliminated. These unfortunate events have left us all in great jeopardy.”

“True.” Yoda looked to Plo Koon. “Imperative it is that we disperse our numbers. Take charge of this you will, Master Koon.”

“We have already selected a site for a second base of operations.” Plo Koon handed Yoda a small datapad. “I will begin relocation of half our number immediately.” 

“Forgive me, Masters, but I have a suggestion.” Obi-Wan stepped forward. “A great deal of information was recovered from the Sith database. It will take time to sort through it all. There are numerous files on the rebellion; as you know, a contingent of their leaders has gone into hiding. I suspect they are attempting to build their numbers through recruitment. It may be to our advantage to attempt to contact these leaders. They may give us access to their rank and file.”

“This is a dangerous course of action,” Qui-Gon said. His voice was a welcome distraction among the sea of strangers. “We risk much if we reveal ourselves to the rebels.”

“Do you think they would so easily sell out their last chance to defeat the Empire?” This from Xan, who had been silent since he answered Yoda’s last question. “They will not betray the remaining Jedi. And we need not give them either cause or sufficient information to do the damage you imply.”

Obi-Wan nodded at Xan, then turned his attention back to Yoda. “What if we try to find just one of their leaders? I have an idea where one might be found.”

“Whom would you seek?” Freeth asked.

“Bail Organa.” 

Immediately a low tide of murmuring began. 

“Absolutely not,” Plo Koon said angrily. “He left this Order. He is a traitor to the Code, to all we have believed in for two millennia. I will not bargain with that particular devil.”

“Bargain, you will, or doomed to extinction we are. All of us,” Yoda said. “Why this man, Obi-Wan?”

“He was Jedi. He must have had his reasons for leaving the order. Among the rebels, he is their most highly regarded leader, and one of the few to have had some success in disrupting Imperial operations on a large scale.”

Yoda thought it over for a moment, then asked, “Think you, Obi-Wan, that Organa can be found?”

“I’m certain of it. But I don’t think a Jedi should go looking.”

“Who, then?” Billaba asked. 

“Who better than a man looking for a cause?” Obi-Wan said, and smiled. “I have someone in mind.”

“One of those who returned with you?” Yoda guessed.

“Yes, my master. The freed slave called Ket’al.”

Billaba looked to Yoda for confirmation, then said, “Very well. Ask this man if he will serve, and we will dispatch one Jedi with him to find Organa.”

Yoda stretched and pointed his walking stick at Obi-Wan. “Rest, you must. All three of you. Tomorrow, speak more of these things, we will. All of us,” he added, looking pointedly at each man. “Do not dwell on your feelings tonight. Meditate, you should. Seek to find the Force, to bring its strength to you.” 

The three men bowed as the Council left the chamber, single file. Obi-Wan knew it would not be so easy to follow Yoda’s instructions. Xan’s presence was like lightning filling every corner of the room.

Xan caught Obi-Wan by the arm as he tried to pass by. “You mentioned shifting boundaries, and choices,” he said, “and I told you we would talk of these things today. You see why I could not speak of it last night.”

“I see only that nothing has been what it appeared to be,” Obi-Wan answered; he squashed down his impulse to accuse, to speak with anger. 

Xan’s clear gaze never wavered; he lifted his head high. “Not even you, Jedi Regent.” Xan dropped his arm. “There are explanations, and I will give them freely…when you are ready to hear them. But I will not come to you.” He looked to Qui-Gon, then back to Obi-Wan. “It must be your decision.”

“Xanatos,” Qui-Gon began, but Xan cut him off with a curt bow, and walked away.

Obi-Wan could feel Qui-Gon’s concern, his curiosity, but he closed his heart to everything but the feel of Xan’s presence, retreating. 

Obi-Wan would find his answers, but for now there was work to be done. 

 

*****

Darth Sidious, Lord of the Sith, Ruler of the Imperial Territories, stood quiet in front of a blazing fire, one that was consuming the two most promising apprentices he had ever chanced upon. The bodies of Anakin Skywalker and Bruck Chun would soon be nothing but ash. 

He had arrived on Taganor with two battalions, ready to make an example of Obi-Wan Kenobi and to use his pet Jedi to find the rest of the Jedi in hiding. But Kenobi was a full day’s start away from the world he had been sworn to oversee, and there was nothing left. Nothing but bodies, and fawning councilors intent on saving their own skins. 

In his initial rage, Sidious had killed several loyal attendants. Regrettable, but anger must have an outlet, if hate was to make him stronger. His personal guard had retreated to a safe distance, watching warily as he set fire to the pyre on which the bodies had been laid to rest.

There would be a reckoning. First he would find the Jedi, and then he would find Kenobi, for where one was, the other would be. 

He would soon introduce Kenobi to the world of agony that awaited him as the enemy of the Sith. 

END


End file.
